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BUBBLES 


y 

BY FANNIE E. NEWBERRY 


AUTHOR OF 

“Impress of a Gentlewoman’* 

“Not for Profit” 

“Sara A. Princess” 

“Strange Conditions” 




C/- 







Copyright, 1897, by 
A. I. Bradley & Co. 




BUBBLES 

BY 

Fannie E. Newberry. 


“ Ay, thus we are ; and all our painted gloiy 
A bubble that a boy blows into the air, 
And there it breaks.” 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Olnky Household 7 

II. The Marriage 17 

III. The Beginning 27 

IV. Anson Kingsley 41 

V. Marjorie’s Social Duties 50 

VI. The Guest Who Came 62 

VII. Terry 71 

VIII. Mabel Olney’s Heart 78 

IX. Mabel’s Story i 86 

X. Marjorie’s Creed 94 

XI. An Odd Partnership 105 

XII. Anson’s Creed 116 

XIII. Phyllis Eeceives an Invitation 125 

XIV. A Day in the World 134 

XV. Compunctions 143 

XVI. The Price of a Gown 157 

XVII. Broken Faith 169 

XVIII. Marjorie is Launched . . 178 

XIX. The Kingsleys, Mother and Son 187 

XX. Wedded Pairs 197 

XXI. The Lust of Gold 206 

XXII. Romayne’s Temptation 213 

XXIII. Two Homes 221 

XXIV. A Terrible Night 231 

XXV. Anson Seeks Information 237 

XXVI. A Readjustment to Changed Conditions .... 254 


5 


6 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXVII. In a Garden 270 

XXVIII. David Maetyn, the Hotel Clerk 281 

XXIX. The Drive to Stannard Hall 295 

XXX. New Glimpses into Old Homes 314 

XXXI. Splintered Lives Made Whole 330 


BUBBLES 


CHAPTER I. 

THE OLNEY HOUSEHOLD. 

It was at that lazy, indefinite waiting hour just be- 
fore dinner when the shades have been drawn, the 
lamps lighted, and the fire freshly poked. This special 
fire was a bright open one, of hard coal, in a broad 
fireplace surmounted by carved intricacies of mantel 
and cabinet, with mirrors introduced as a background, 
and the wielder of the poker was a woman in the early 
prime of life, her fine face full of vigor and sweetness, 
her curved form, even as she bent forward, suggesting 
power as well as grace. 

Opposite her sat an older woman, and the two both 
seemed in pleasing harmony with their surroundings. 
The latter was slender and white haired, with a deli- 
cate face, its right cheek now resting pensively upon a 
fragile hand, and some word she had just spoken in 
her husky, pensive little voice had arrested the steel 
poker in mid air. She continued, “ You wait and see ! 
When he marries and settles down all will be different. 
Young men will be extravagant, but their wives soon 
alter that. In spite of the newspaper squibs it is my 
firm conviction that women are better managers in 
everyday matters than men, and most young fellows 
7 


8 


BUBBLES. 


will support two in comfort on what before scarcely 
served for one. Then you know,” laughing gently, 
“ courting is expensive business in love, or law. Flow- 
ers, carriage hire, outings, and gifts count up rapidly.” 

“ Yes, I know.” The younger woman carefully set 
the poker in place and straightened up. “But wives 
are different, and generalities don’t count in real life. 
I sometimes wonder that Marjorie will accept so much. 
It does not look like prudence exactly, or even a be- 
coming self-restraint, but — hark ! there he is now. In 
good season for once, I declare.” 

Her strong, attractive face brightened as she turned 
toward the broad doorway separating this library from 
the hall, and presently her glance met the entering 
figure of a youth just verging upon manhood, who 
moved with a jaunty motion, and was dressed so pre- 
cisely as to trench upon dandyism. He wore a close - 
cut crop of chestnut curls, as Nature’s gift, and sported 
a pair of frank, laughing blue eyes, while his somewhat 
sensuous and loosely-hung lips parted over white teeth 
in a debonair smile. You would have called him 
strikingly handsome, then qualified it by saying “ When 
he smiles,” then perhaps have wondered (this after 
longer acquaintance) whether he were the style of a 
man you admired, after all, for in some moods he ceased 
to charm. Yet in society he shone as a brilliant, 
favored fellow, and a desirable parti. 

“Well, Aunt Mabel,” he cried, with an affectionate, 
yet teasing air, drawing out his expensive watch and 
flirting it in her face, “ you can’t scold me for being 
late to-night, anyhow. It’s six to a second ” 

“And there is the bell ! ” cried Mabel Olney, raising 


THE OLNEY HOUSEHOLD. 


9 


a finger. “ And don’t think I scold for pleasure, Ro- 
mayne,” giving a little laugh that was clear and mu- 
sical, “ though it is the prerogative of old maids. I as- 
sure you I do not intend to claim it. Come, mother.” 

Romayne hastened to offer an arm to his grandmother; 
and the feeble old lady rose with difficulty from her 
chair, discovering a cane concealed amid the folds of 
her skirt. This she grasped securely with her right 
hand, as she passed out at his side, still limping from 
the effects of a fall of several years back, from which 
a full recovery seemed doubtful. The hall they trav- 
ersed was broad and well appointed, the dining-room 
they entered large and fitted with the solid well-made 
furniture of the early century, and polished into bril- 
liancy by constant care. Like the whole house, it bore 
the impress of refined taste and a desire for comfort, 
with no attempt at luxurious display; this was also 
true of its inmates, with one exception. Evidently it 
had been a home for many years, not simply a house to 
be moved into and out of, and content had taken up its 
abode with the family. The fashion of things might 
change, but they did not. The domestic who brought 
in the dessert had also cooked the dinner. She would 
have scorned the need of a “ second girl ” in a family 
of three, and would have resented any helper as an in- 
trusion. She was as perfectly at home as if an Olney 
herself, having occupied her position for years, and 
would have been astonished to hear herself called a 
servant. Indeed, Rachel Allen was regarded far more 
in the light of a friend, having her little word to offer 
in all family discussions, because, added to her capabil- 
ity and good sense, was a loyalty that made her reti- 


10 


BUBBLES. 


cent in family affairs, and constantly respectful to in- 
dividuals. 

She was, in fact, a strong, self-respecting woman, 
who ennobled her position, and who never gave occa- 
sion to be reminded of her “ place ” in a family who con- 
sidered it as important as any. 

While they took seats about the table, daintily ap- 
pointed in an original manner independent of passing 
modes, which always gave the visitor a feeling that the 
Olney household felt quite capable of making a fashion 
of its own, Mabel suddenly asked, 

“ Have you heard yet, Romayne ? ” 

“ Yes, and the day is set — the fifth of next month.” 

“So soon ?” 

“Soon? Gracious! it seems long to me. What’s 
the use of any waiting, now that I am thoroughly es- 
tablished in business ? With my salary and the com- 
missions I shall get ” 

“ But are you allowed a commission now? ” 

“ Oh, not just yet, but it will soon come.” 

“ Don’t be too certain,” suggested his aunt. 

“ And isn’t the salary quite small, Romayne ? ” asked 
his grandmother, gently. 

“ It will soon be raised, gammer. I’ve heard you 
say, lots of times, that young people ought to begin 
life in a small way — that too many wait to start in 
where their parents left off. Now, isn’t that so. Aunt 
Mabel?” 

“ I don’t deny it, dear,” His. Olney hastened to 
say, before her daughter could speak, “and I am glad 
you are willing to begin so humbly ; but I thought you 
spoke of a rather expensive wedding journey, and ” 


THE OLNEY HOUSEHOLD. 


11 


He laughed. 

“ Bless you ! You wouldn’t deny us a little fling, 
just to begin with, would you ? I thought that was 
understood.” 

“ What is understood,” put in Mabel firmly, “ is that 
mother’s gift and mine will be three hundred dollars, 
which you may use exactly as you choose. What you 
take for the trip will have to be deducted from your 
furnishings, that is all.” 

“ Oh, as to that, a furnished flat can easily be found 
in the city. Marjorie would be awfully disappointed 
if we gave up the outing. She has been doting upon 
a fortnight at the seashore, and I can’t begin by break- 
ing her heart — poor little puss ! But we’ll get on all 
right, you’ll see, auntie. Just pass the fruit, please, and 
I’ll tell you what she wrote about her gowns ; they’re 
going to be in style, I promise you ! ” 

He launched into a long and animated description, 
into which Miss Olney broke, at length, by asking with 
a somewhat sarcastic inflection, 

“ So that was what filled the double-stamped envel- 
ope the postman left to-day, was it? Girls used to 
write love letters to their fiances when I was one — not 
fashion articles.” 

“ As if you weren’t one now ! But no irony. Aunt 
Mabel. The love part is all right, just the same ; we 
understand each other. But Marjie knows I’m proud 
of her beauty, and want her to look her best, of 
course.” 

“She certainly must be pretty,” murmured Mrs. 
Olney with a deprecating air, for she shrank from un- 
pleasant suggestions with an invalid’s nervousness. 


12 


BUBBLES, 


“ Beautiful,” confirmed her daughter, flinging her a 
reassuring smile, “ unless the sun tells naughty fibs in 
painting her features, for her photograph is perfect. 
But I wish we knew her better. It is such a pity she 
could not have come for that visit. There are other 
things in life besides a fair face, my boy.” 

“Certainly — accomplishments. Well, Marjorie has 
enough of them. She is a natural musician, and plays 
all the new catchy airs by ear; then she paints a little, 
and embroiders, and she can dance like a fairy. She’s 
all right ! ” 

“ What reading does she enjoy ? ” asked Miss Olney 
in a rather dry tone. 

“ Oh pshaw ! Aunt Mab, girls don’t read nowadays ; 
there’s too much else to do. The Dunlaps are not rich, 
and of course it requires management to move in the 
set they do. I presume Marjorie really has to do a 
good many little things about the house, besides all her 
social engagements. How could you expect her to 
read ? ” 

“ Then she is helpful at home ? ” questioned Mrs. Ol- 
ney, eagerly. 

“ Of course — I suppose so. I know I always have to 
wait for her to get dressed when I call. But when she 
does appear, isn’t she stunning, though?” 

He rose with a laugh at his aunt’s sober face and, 
pleading an engagement, hastened out, leaving mother 
and daughter to return to the library and continue the 
subject, if they chose. But they did not. In fact, 
both seemed rather to avoid it and, her mother once 
more comfortably installed in her large chair by the 
fire, Mabel picked up a late magazine, and said briskly, 


THE OLNEY HOUSEHOLD. 


13 


“ Shall I begin the article on ‘ The Ethics of Self- 
culture/ mother ? ” to which the elder assenting, they 
settled down to an uninterrupted evening, such as they 
passed together at least five nights out of the seven in 
every week of their sheltered, comfortable, yet monoto- 
nous existence. 

The Olneys were a good and somewhat aristocratic 
family, who had for several generations occupied the 
same house. It was delightfully situated in one of those 
older towns of the middle west which boast a past, and 
which are beginning to impress a stranger with that air 
of permanent respectability delightful to the wanderer. 
Here grass-bordered streets rambled at will, with no 
thought of hurry, between their ranks of overarching 
trees, the deep lawns suggested privacy and peace, the 
often antique architecture aimed mostly at comfort and 
utility, while the traits thus hinted at in the homes were 
equally true of the residents. These were mainly solid, 
home-loving people, who were contented with well 
enough, and let the world’s restless changes slip by 
them unpursued, almost unnoted. 

Often the younger portion of the community rebelled 
and sought new fields of enterprise, perhaps to look 
back amid disastrous failure to the haven of peace they 
had never appreciated before, perhaps in prosperity to 
rail a little at the “ fossils ” left stranded there, yet 
always with a respect which could not be gainsaid, or 
questioned. 

Among these the generations of the Olneys had lived 
and flourished, making their slow, sure way to com- 
petency and honor. But the male members had not 
been long-lived, and the family had now dwindled to a 


14 


BUBBLES. 


handful of incongruous atoms ; Mrs. Henrietta Olney, 
now a widow for several years past, Miss Mabel Olney, 
her unmarried daughter still under thirty, and Romayne 
Matteson, the dying legacy of the latter’s older sister, 
Maude, who had opened her eyes into a new world 
when her baby had been but seven days in this. 
Maude’s husband, also Romayne Matteson, was a west- 
erner of roving disposition and uncertain fortunes, but 
a man of many fascinations. He had, however, begun 
to chafe, already, under the yoke of decorous attention 
to family duties, and readily seconded his young wife’s 
dying wish that the child should be given unreservedly 
to her mother. He was restless and wretched after his 
loss, until he could make his preparations for another 
visit to the far west, and once arrived there wrote in- 
frequently at first, then not at all, so that the silence 
had now remained unbroken for many years, and the 
family, who had never been fond of him, ceased to re- 
call him even in thought. He was as if he had never 
been, while his child was the centre of the household. 

Both grandmother and aunt petted and indulged him, 
though the latter often tried to be firm, each sharing 
freely with him the comfortable income they enjoyed 
from a moderate fortune safely invested, and still undi- 
vided. He enjoyed the prestige not only of babyhood, 
but also of being the only male member in a family 
thoroughly feminine and unprogressive — using the 
words in their definite, fin-de-siecle sense as applied to 
woman. By turns he had always patronized, teased 
and managed them, but so far, beyond certain extrava- 
gances at college, where he had barely finished the 
freshman year, he had given them little cause for con- 


THE OLNEY HOUSEHOLD. 


15 


cern, as his tastes did not incline toward ordinary dis- 
sipation. He was, rather, fond of refined society, and 
adored pretty girls, and this contemplated marriage 
while he was still too young to be a voter, was agitating 
his two guardians with many doubts and fears. 

Mabel felt these more keenly than her mother, for 
she had been forced into the position of financial mana- 
ger by Mrs. Oluey’s failing health, and had developed 
somewhat old-fashioned and conservative ideas, such as 
a peculiar and unpopular honesty which persists in liv- 
ing within one’s means, and a conscientious desire for 
self-improvement and helpfulness to others, which 
causes one to ^make the most of every opportunity for 
culture, in order to . extend these benefits to those less 
richly favored. 

Had Mabel Olney been a man she would have made 
a philanthropist, and the world might have heard of her 
outside of this little history. Being a woman, and a 
modest woman at that, she will doubtless leave no 
record, save in the grateful hearts of a few who owe 
her everything that a woman’s love could offer. 
Mabel often wondered over this Marjorie Dunlap, the 
beautiful daughter of a department clerk in a great 
establishment of the neighboring city, where Romayne 
had also secured a position of a lower grade. Would 
she prove a suitable wife for him ? She listened to his 
talk of her, and trembled. If she could only meet her ! 

But Mabel seldom left her mother, and the visit she 
had planned from the young lady had fallen through 
on account of illness in the family. Mabel understood 
there was a large family, and as this girl of nineteen 
was the oldest she must either have grown up helpful 


16 


BUBBLES. 


and competent, or selfish and a shirk. Which had she 
been ? 

Yet all her worrying ended in one way. What was 
the use of troubling herself when Romayne would not 
listen ? He had long since won over his doting grand- 
mothev, and still talked down her own scruples and 
forebodings, as we have seen. It had now gone be- 
yond her control, and she must make the best of it. 
Mrs. Olney, living in a dreamy retirement in which she 
was saved every care by her energetic daughter, half 
forgot the stern realities of life, and pleased herself 
with visions of their roseate future. Mabel, forced by 
circumstances into shrewdness, was sharply aware of 
their inexperience, and the small provision Romayne 
was likely to make for a family. She was sordid 
enough to remember that butcher’s and baker’s bills, 
rent and water taxes cannot be paid without money, 
and her musings took the practical form of thus ques- 
tioning the future. 

“Are they at all suited to each other ? Will she help 
him to save, or to spend? When trials come, will 
their love be strong enough to hold, or will it snap like 
a rotten cable ? Have they, in a word, the slightest 
idea what marriage entails upon each?” 

But the future gave no answer. 


CHAPTER 11. 


THE MARRIAGE. 

It was an event when Mabel Olney left home, even 
for a night, for in her unselfish devotion to her frail 
mother she had become almost as much of a recluse as 
she ; but Mrs. Olney was so persistent in urging her to 
attend Romayne’s wedding that her objections were all 
overruled as fast as presented. 

“ Xo, Mabel, that is nonsense I You know Rachel 
will take the best care of me, and there is not the 
slightest reason for your worrying. Now, have a new 
nice dress, put all home botherments out of your mind, 
and enjoy yourself to the utmost.” 

So said the invalid, with unusual spirit, and Mabel, 
seeing that her mother made such a point of it, yielded 
as thoroughly as she did everything else, and entered 
into the enjoyment of the thing with girlish abandon. 

It happened to be a blustering day, though late 
spring, its varying moods expressed in viragoish spits 
of rain, wind and sleet, occasionally breaking into 
genial sunshiny smiles, to be as quickly replaced by 
black frowns, or a gust sharp and severe as a woman’s 
bitter scolding. 

They started on an early morning train, the city 
being but an hour or two distant, and the wedding set 
for high noon, after the fashion then in vogue. 
Shortly before that hour, the carriage containing 
2 17 


18 


BUBBLES. 


Mabel and the prospective groom drew up before the 
door of an expressionless sort of house with a plain 
brick front, where the two were presently admitted to 
as expressionless an interior, furnished so nearly like a 
thousand others in the city as to need no description. 
The maid, evidently a fresh importation from Poland, 
led them through tlie contracted hall into a parlor that 
looked as if it had been squeezed into place, and had 
then broken out into revolt of furniture and bric-a-brac, 
all-pervading as an eruption. 

Mabel, long used to the large rooms and free spaces 
of her village home, felt a tendency to gasp for breath, 
which she sternly controlled, as a lady of middle age 
entered, rustling with unnecessary vigor in an elaborate 
costume of mauve silk and black lace — neither of first- 
class quality. She was of a nervous type, evidently, 
(perhaps fussy is the more expressive word,) flabby of 
muscle and restless of eye, with an eager, anxious line 
ploughed by care between her brows, while her whole 
manner emanated such an effort at style and effect as to 
destroy all suggestion of repose, for it made one equally 
nervous and anxious simply to look at her. 

“ Miss Olney ? ” she cried blandly in an unmodulated 
voice, which rose and fell in distressful uncertainty as 
she rambled on, “And dear Romayne ! So glad to see 
you. I’ve been awfully nervous — such a family to dress 
and see to — and the breakfast, too — we couldn’t decide 
about the sherbet till the last minute. It’s almost time, 
isn’t it? Miss Olney, I’m so glad you could come. The 
girls are dressing, Romayne, and Marjorie — dear child ! 
— is the most composed of anybody. The flowers you 
sent are exquisite — so much obliged. Miss Olney, would 


THE MARRIAGE. 


19 


you like to go to your room? I suppose you have 
changes to make, and — and so forth?” 

Still suppressing the inclination to gasp, Mabel an- 
swered a bit stiffly, 

“A few, thank you. They will not take long. Do 
not let me interfere with your other arrangements ” 

“ Oh, not at all. And Romayne, you shall see Mar- 
jorie soon. She is almost ready. I do hope it will go 
off all right — such a responsibility ! If you could have 
been here to rehearse your parts again, but ” 

She stopped abruptly, as if her spark of an idea had 
died out, and Mabel followed her from the room with a 
slight ironic smile curling the firm handsome lips, which 
were an Olney characteristic not shared by its latest 
scion. Mrs. Dunlap’s phrases struck her as peculiar, 
at least. 

“Hopes it will ‘go off’ — wishes they could ‘rehearse 
their parts ! ’ ” she repeated to herself resentfully. “ She 
talks as if it were a rocket, or a pantomime. Is this 
the only feeling a mother can muster upon the occasion 
of a first marriage among her daughters? Yet this 
woman has been chosen to receive five immortal souls 
from God, to train and fit for eternity. How strange ! 
How inconceivable ! ” 

She was led to a small room up one flight, and from 
behind its closed door could hear, as she lingered un- 
conscionably over her toilet, the sounds made by a 
numerous and unrestrained family in small quarters 
with thin partitions, who are all preparing for some ex- 
citing event at a fixed hour. Now and then a rough 
masculine expletive, at times a shrill girlish call ; once 
a rush of small feet through the hall, and the noise of a 


20 


BUBBLES. 


laughing scuffle, and again baby wails from some little 
one undergoing a bath, evidently enforced by heroic 
measures. 

Plainly, Mrs. Dunlap had, at some sacrifice of con- 
venience, made an early toilet to welcome her guests, 
and less practised hands were making rough work of 
her transferred duties, for time and again her taffeta- 
lined skirts rustled through the small hallway, and her 
uncertain voice was raised and lowered in fretful rebuke, 
or plaintive coaxing. 

A merrier outburst of girlish talk, laughter, and ex- 
clamations, swept past Miss Olney’s door as she was 
about to open it, and hastened her movements. Peer- 
ing out she saw a pretty sight enough. Just opposite 
her own, another door stood open, and framed in its 
panels was a fair young figure in a costume for travel- 
ing, both becoming and elegant, at this instant holding 
out eager hands to Romayne who, flushed and hand- 
some in his becoming morning dress, had just come 
springing up the stairway to greet her. Grouped be- 
hind were other girlish heads, while the family filled 
the little corridor to overflowing, as they looked on 
with curious, admiring eyes. 

A second glance at the bride in the door, and Mabel 
Olney felt her discontent melting away. No wonder 
Romayne loved that perfect face with its wealth of 
color and sparkle, that dainty form with its seductive 
grace — who could help it? She threw the door wide 
and stepped briskly forward with the merry words, 

“ Mayn’t I be in this charming picture, too? No, I 
need no introduction, Romayne. Marjorie, my dear, 
will you kiss your Aunt Mabel ? ” 


THE MARRIAGE. 


21 


All eyes were turned upon the two. They noted the 
fine, compact form with its rich, though quiet dress, 
advancing swiftly to clasp the lovely girl with tender 
solemnity, and the manner of the caress brought a 
sudden sense of hush upon even that thoughtless group. 
For an instant Mrs. Dunlap felt a constriction in her 
throat which was not all nervousness, and her husband 
ceased to tug and swear under his breath at the new 
kids he was struggling with, while the clustering youth- 
ful faces grew serious and sweet. 

Just for an instant, then fussy Mrs. Dunlap broke 
the charm : “Let me introduce Mr. Dunlap, Miss Olney 
— and this is my second daughter, Phyllis, and two 
school friends of the girls. Miss Blake and Miss West. 
Then this is George, our only boy, and this curly pate 
is Jean, and here is the baby. Fay.” 

She galloped through these presentations in a breath- 
less fashion, as if rushing to catch a train, and Mabel 
had a confused idea of a puffy, fall-faced man some- 
what underbred and decidedly shoppy, of a sallow, 
unhealthy looking boy whose large eyes were his only 
beauty, of a handsome child who seemed about five 
years old in size, but fifty in expression, as she gave 
the stranger a cool kiss and critical glance, and of a 
chubby baby wriggling in the arms of a small skinny 
girl, who looked like a street waif by Woolf. 

Her impression of the young ladies was more vivid 
and pleasant. All were bright, and charming, though 
none could compare with the bride-to-be in beauty, yet 
the freshness and vivacity of youth seemed their only 
characteristic in this hasty glance, except in the one 
called Phyllis. Mabel gave her a second look and let 


22 


BUBBLES. 


it linger. Was there not a lovely soul gazing from 
those hazel eyes, and did not that smile, now lapsing 
into a dreamy light, hide deeper depths than were ap- 
parent in any of the others ? She felt suddenly drawn 
to the girl, then as suddenly caught herself up with the 
self-reproachful thought that she should have expe- 
rienced this feeling for Marjorie, instead. 

Of course all these impressions were vague and in- 
stantaneous, like the play of light and shade in a sum- 
mer hreeze gone almost before felt, but a hazy idea of 
a large and varied group, not wholly satisfying but 
with some hope of better suggestions clinging about it, 
remained. 

From this moment all was bustle and confusion, as 
they entered the waiting carriages to be driven to the 
church. Miss Olney, knowing the straightened circum- 
stances of the Dunlap family, was astonished at the 
display of flowers, ribbons and robes there, but gave 
them only passing heed as she passed to her place upon 
an usher’s arm, and sank into her seat within the satin 
ropes, feeling that the dreaded expectation of the last 
few months was now a fact, unavoidable and ever- 
present — Romayne’s marriage. Would it prove for him 
a blessing, or a curse ? She controlled a shiver, and 
gazed through a mist of tears upon the solemn, beauti- 
ful scene, till the two turned from the officiating min- 
ister after the final benediction. 

“ There is One who loves them even better than I,” 
she murmured. “ May He bless and guide them as I 
never could ! ” 

As the newly married, looking far too young for 
life’s serious responsibilities, came toward her down 


TEE MABRIAGE. 


23 


the aisle she watched them piercingly, anxiously. Ro- 
niayne was colorless and grave, his lips twitching with 
emotion ; upon Marjorie’s smooth cheek was a vivid 
spot of pink, and her lips were set in a studied smile, 
but in her eyes lurked an expression of exultant pride 
and triumph. 

Mabel’s gaze became a stare. 

“ Is it because she loves him so ? ” she murmured. 
“ Or — or — ” She could not finish the sentence, even 
to herself. It smacked too strongly of family pride. 
There was a stir all about her, and with a feeling of re- 
lief she, too, rose and left the pew. But it was in a 
dazed way that she reentered the carriage, and came once 
more to the unexpressive brick house. And the ques- 
tion rose unrelentingly more than once before she left 
it. The social aspect of the succeeding breakfast was 
not to her mind, and the guests wore an air she could 
not quite understand. She caught one or two exchang- 
ing side remarks with an amused air, and none of them, 
with the exception of a few old couples, and the girl 
and boy comrades of the young people, seemed entirely 
at home. Mrs. Dunlap’s nervousness did not subside 
till they had left table, but Mr. Dunlap’s talkativeness 
seemed on the increase. Mabel implacably blamed the 
champagne, the presence of which did not please her, 
and she saw with a thrill of disgust that all seemed to 
partake of it freely, though a whisper near her elbow 
let her into the secret of its being an inferior brand. 

For years the Olney homestead — have we yet men- 
tioned its name, Fairhaven? — had been known far and 
wide for its hospitality, and though sorrow and illness 
now closed its door, she knew how quickly society 


24 


BUBBLES. 


would respond should they once more be thrown wide. 
She could not imagine a guest tittering, or whispering, 
in the Fairhaven drawing-room ; she could not conceive 
of an Olney inviting any one who would not come in 
the guise of a true friend, and drop criticism, with his 
overshoes, at the threshold. All this disturbed, nettled 
her. Then she had to admit that the atmosphere was 
inordinately worldly, and the family life disunited to a 
degree. Only Phyllis seemed a golden link to unite 
the baser elements, and she found herself watching the 
girl repeatedly as she passed smoothly about, leaving 
brightness in her trail. Once Mrs. Dunlap managed to 
get close enough to whisper, 

“What do you think of Marjorie’s traveling suit? 
They say that shade of tan is awfully stylish, but I’m 
not sure about its being so becoming to Marjorie as 
some other color. However, so long as it is the thing, 
and she insisted on it, I thought ” 

Mrs. Dunlap’s sentences were seldom concluded. 
She broke off now to turn to her husband who, looking 
more flushed than ever, hurried up to ask in a hoarse 
voice, 

“Are we going to the train with ’em, or not? They 
say it isn’t the ticket, nowadays.” 

“Certainly not. The maid of honor and ushers 
may go, but nobody else.” 

“ Not even Georgie ? He wants to awfully.” 

“ No indeed— however ” — Mabel was glad to see the 
mother-heart begin to weaken, “perhaps you might 
smuggle him in with the ushers. I wonder if ’twould 
do?” 

She seemed appealing to Miss Olney, who hastened 


THE 3IABRIAGE. 


25 


to say emphatically that she thought it would, while 
inwardly marveling over a household that seemed to 
live in such abject terror of the impalpable ogre, 
“ They say.” 

Just then came a pleasanter interruption in the 
shape of Phyllis, who spoke from a near doorway in a 
subdued tone. “ Mother, Marjorie must be going soon. 
Do you wish to see her before she comes down ? ” 

“Why yes, if I can leave ” 

“ Of course you can leave ! She is in her own room. 
Take all the time you like, dear.” 

Her brown-grey eyes looked tenderly into the older 
woman’s with tender sympathy, then, as the latter hur- 
ried away, turned to Mabel, all suffused with tears. 

“I shall miss her,” she whispered, reaching out a 
hand as if instinctively, “ oh, how I shall miss her ! ” 

Mabel warmly grasped the small hand, which felt 
full of virility and strength in her own, despite its 
childish delicacy. 

“ Yes, you must miss her, dear. You are so near in 
age. I know it all, my child! When Maude, Ro- 
mayne’s mother, married it almost broke my heart. 
Her death was a terrible blow, yet there was a yearn- 
ing sadness in the thought that she would never again 
be my very own, when she married, that was past all 
telling.” 

A few hours later the young couple had gone in a 
cloud of rice and slippers, and a short time after Mabel 
herself was on her homeward way, busily engaged in 
shaping exactly the right account of the affair which 
should best please her mother. Mabel, truthful as 
clear glass, never even suspected that, in her tender ef- 


26 


BUBBLES. 


forts to keep all care from that dear heart, she some- 
times actually prevaricated ! Yes, so deftly did she 
mix her colors, so cunningly did she smudge in her 
shadows, and tone up her high lights, that I fear few of 
her word pictures to that estimable lady would have 
passed for photographs. 

“But,” she thought with exultation, “I cannot ex- 
aggerate over Marjorie’s beauty, nor Phyllis’s sweet- 
ness, and they are the principal personages, after all. 
She will care less about the older people, or the chil- 
dren. If Romayne had only fancied the second one, 
instead of the first of the family ! There is something 
about her higher, finer — however, let me be honest — is 
it in Romayne to see and appreciate this, and, if not, is 

he not better mated as he is? But I must make 

mother feel comfortable about it all, anyhow.” 


CHAPTER III. 


THE BEGINNING. 

“ Ah ! a letter from Romayne, and a good thick one 
this time. I will take it right to mother — no, come to 
think, I will just look it over first, seeing it is addressed 
to me.” 

Mabel stepped off the low, broad veranda where she 
had met the postman, and followed an undefined path 
across the greensward to a nook she loved well — an 
easy, but somewhat disreputable, old seat made of 
twisted vines and boards, under a great oak, one, as she 
fondly hoped, that remained of the original forest. 
Here, quite screened from observation by a clump of 
flowering currant bushes, she opened the well-filled en- 
velope and began to read. A glance showed that the 
bridal pair had returned from their trip, and were 
snugly ensconced in a flat. 

“ It is a little better than we ought to afford, I sup- 
pose,” confessed the writer, “ but it was so hard to find 
just the thing, and being so near home for Marjorie will 
save car-fare, you see. We won’t have much left after 
paying the rent each month, but we are not great eat- 
ers, fortunately, and we have plenty of clothing for the 
present, so we’ll get along. If Gershom and Twiss 
will give me the commission I demand we shall do 
finely, for I know I could earn a good deal that way. 
However, I’m thinking up a fine project, and mean- 
while, if you are considering how to remember my 
27 


28 


BUBBLES. 


birthday, next month, do let it be in money, there’s a 
dear ! Fact is, that three hundred just melted while we 
were gone. Evei^body is waiting to squeeze a newly- 
married man, you know, and it’s ridiculous how things 
cost in traveling, anyway. So, as I was saying, what 
with getting settled and all, I had to run up a few bills, 
but don’t worry, and we’ll soon be in fine shape, I 
promise you. Marjorie is handsomer than ever, and 
both of us too happy to believe it.” 

Some time later Mabel treated her mother to the 
wholesomer bits of this epistle, as a nurse might feed a 
sickly baby, and left the stronger portion to ruminate 
over alone, ending her dubious musings with the 
thought ; 

“I wonder if I will have to make up my mind to 
helping them right along? Well, and if I must it will 
only mean a few sacrifices on my part, and do I be- 
grudge them to Maude’s child? I do believe I am 
growing selfish with age ! First, then, I will cancel the 
order for those new books. I hope mother won’t no- 
tice ; I will have to keep her amused by searching out 
everything good in the magazines, so she will not ob- 
serve any lack. And yet — ” she smiled whimsically — 
“ why is it, when one economizes, one always begins by 
denying the mind ? Is the body so much more impor- 
tant, then? Mabel Olney, I’m ashamed of you! Get 
the books, and cut down some other way. There’s the 
summer hat you had planned ; wear last year’s another 
season, and be so bright yourself people will forget to 
notice it in looking and listening to you. Then, I’m 
sure we can save a little in the provisions, and there 
mother will never mind, for she eats like a bird.” 


THE BEGINNING. 


29 


Yet, as this meant speaking to Rachel, she half 
dreaded it, then, rallying herself for a coward, started 
at once for the kitchen to have it over. Here she found 
that estimable creature seated by a sunny window, 
calmly stoning raisins for a cake, as she crooned a 
quaint old tune, which seemed to consist of two low 
notes, a rest, then two higher ones, another rest, and so 
on, up a jerky scale of original character, for Rachel 
had no more idea of a real tune than a grasshopper. 
Mabel liked to go into this pleasant kitchen and watch 
its contented inmate. There was a peculiar charm in 
the clean, roomy place with its stretch of half windows 
above the long dresser, its higher south window full of 
plants, its well blacked range and shining rows of tin- 
ware, and, best of all, that comfortable figure swaying 
in the well-cushioned old rocker or stepping briskly 
about at the tasks which perfect knowledge and system 
made light. 

Meeting Rachel’s smile with another, and motioning 
her back into the chair from which she was respect- 
fully about to rise, Mabel seated herself upon another 
less comfortable, as she began without any circumlocu- 
tion, 

“ Rachel, how can we reduce the bills these next two 
months?” The woman chuckled inwardly. She knew 
what her Miss Mabel’s economies usually portended, so 
asked drily, 

“ Is it to boost up the missionary society again, or do 
they need another new carpet for the Sunday-school 
room ? ” Mabel laughed and flushed. 

“ Neither. I want the money for a more selfish pur- 
pose, I fear. Can we manage it ? ” 


30 


BUBBLES. 


“ Oh, I suppose so. We might git along without the 
fruit for breakfast ” 

“ Oh no, no ! Mother depends on that ; it’s about all 
she eats.” 

Rachel smiled grimly. She knew this as well as her 
young mistress, but she went on ruthlessly, as if she 
had not heard, 

“ And change them fust-class roasts fur cheap j’ints, 
and do without desserts,” (she pronounced this as if 
she were referring to sandy plains) “ and git brown 
sugar fur the coffee, and Rio ’stid of Javy an’ Mochy, 
an’ ” 

“Oh Rachel, Rachel, you’re just trying to torment 
me now ! You know it can be done in other ways, and 
that these wouldn’t do at all. Come, now, do be good 
and think. Indeed, I must have the money, and you 
know it would worry mother so if she had to plan and 
contrive, but you can always carry out whatever you 
attempt.” 

The bait took, and Rachel’s smile became a grin. 
She enjoyed praise as well as a parrot, and indeed 
would have it. Now she unbent at once, to say good- 
naturedly, 

“ Oh, go along an’ I’ll manage somehow, jest let me 
do it my own way. I hate to be hendered with other 
folkses’ ijees and questions. I’ve got to go on my own 
path that’s marked out plain in my own mind, an’ I 
don’t want to try anybody’s else’s that’s sure to go a-jig- 
gering. But say, Miss Mabel, didn’t you never hear 
thet too many feather pillars was weakenin’ ? ” 

“Pillows?” repeated Mabel vaguely, not seeing the 
connection. 


THE BEGINNING. 


31 


“Yes, pillars; specially when they're real soft. I 
never stopped to think how the pillars might feel their- 
selves, though it’s wuth considerin’, but I know if you 
keep a baby allers bolstered up it ’ll never learn to 
walk. You don’t give your good rna half a chance.” 

Mabel saw now, and looked half nettled, half aston- 
ished. “ Perhaps you don’t understand, Rachel ” 

The latter nodded. 

“ Do too, and I ain’t a-findin’ fault, nuther. Your 
motives is all right, but your jedgment is off. It's 
’cause you’re young, of course, an’ you can’t help it, 
but it ain’t the way to do.” Then, as if fearing she 
had said enough, she broke into a hearty laugh, and in 
an entirely different tone went on, “But land! we 
can keep it from your ma easy enough, if we want to. 
D’ye mind thet time we squeezed out the extry money, 
when Mr. Romayne was in college, and she never even 
suspected till the very last, an’ then asked as innercent 
as a kitten, ‘ Haven’t we hed codfish an’ rice pudden’ 
oftener’n usual, my dear ? ’ ” Both laughed in recalling 
it, and Mabel’s eyes grew humid after that sweet way 
some women’s have, when their natures are keenly sen- 
sitive, and the tears and laughter scarcely separable. 

“ We’ll have to guard against sameness again, 
Rachel,” she said, ignoring the subject of pillows en- 
tirely. “ One thing, there’s no sense in your beginning 
my grate fire, evenings, so early as you do in the fall. 
You pamper me.” 

“Pity ef I do!” muttered Rachel, vigorously jam- 
ming some pulverized sugar under her rolling pin, for 
the raisins, denuded of their grittiness, now stood 
meekly by waiting, like patient saints, their further 


32 


BUBBLES. 


mission in life. “ I s’pose you’re the only one thet 
can’t stand coddlin’ in tins fambly, ain’t you ? Well, 
we’ve got coal, thank heaven ! left over from last 
winter, and when the nights is cold and rainy you’re 
a-goin’ to hev a fire ! It may be a savin’ of doctor’s 
bills fer all you know.” 

Mabel only laughed as she rose. There was not the 
slightest use of combating Rachel in this mood. But 
just as she passed out through the door the woman 
asked with elaborate carelessness, 

“ Heerd from Mr. Romayne lately ? ” 

Mabel glanced sharply around, but her domestic was 
intensely occupied in measuring out and sifting the flour 
for her cake, and did not meet her eye. Yet Mabel 
knew, as well as if she had said so, that she understood 
exactly why these economies were to be inaugurated. 
It was always so. Rachel divined the whole, and it 
certainly was sometimes annoying, yet there were times 
when it was a comfort, too. Quickly putting aside her 
momentary chagrin, Mabel answered with enthusiasm, 
“Yes, and a nice long letter too. They are quite 
settled now in a neat little flat, and very happy.” 

“ H’m ! ” muttered Rachel. “ Thet’s a fine state to 
be in, but it’s sometimes struck me thet it’s still better 
to let other folks be happy, too, ef you can’t make both 
work to oncet. I never could stomach wopperjawed 
things, and tlie happiness that’s got by makin’ other 
folkses’ onhappy don’t cut much Agger in my calendar. 
But then I don’t know much, mebbe. Say, would you 
mind tollin’ your ma thet I ken press out them laces o’ 
hern jest’s soon’s this cake’s in th’ oven ? May es well 
use the fire while I’ve got it. I’ll come after ’em when 


THE BEGINNING. 


33 


she gits ’em ready, and — and ef you want to tell me to 
hold my tongue, why jest do it ! I sha’n’t mind a bit.” 

But Mabel only laughed as she disappeared, while 
Rachel chuckled inwardly. 

“As ef I couldn’t see through her like a cat through 
a glass cream-jug ! It’ll jest go on an’ on, fer thet boy 
ain’t no more ijee of savin’ an’ pinchin’ then a last 
year’s robin. ’Twould be better fer ’em all ef thet 
blessed child wasn’t so self- sacrificin’. But land! ain’t 
she the Lord’s own ? I guess He ken look after her, 
Rachel Allen, ’thout any o’ your interferin’.” 

And thereupon she began her plans for making the 
month’s income cover two. 

About the time Romayne received the welcome sum 
thus eked out, Phyllis, one bright day, suddenly flung 
aside her sewing, with the remark, 

“ There ! good-bye to the mending for this week. I’m 
off to Marjorie’s, and if sufficiently urged shall stop to 
dinner. Jean,” lifting a finger, to shake playfully at 
her little sister, “ I entrust mother and the baby to you. 
Don’t you let them tire each other all out, will you ? ” 
Jean glanced up from under her curls in her cool, 
un childlike way as she answered calmly, 

“I may go out myself. If I don’t ” 

“ Oh, indeed I ” laughed Phyllis, stepping into the 
small entry to pin on a plain little hat, which did not 
give her entire inward satisfaction, but, like many things 
in the girl’s life, “ would do,” “ but suppose, just for 
manners you do stay at home and be as nice as possible. 
It’s so becoming when you’re nice, Jean ! ” 

The child laughed a little, showing her fine white 
teeth like rows of young corn, then nodded. 

3 


34 


BUBBLES. 


“ Well, ni be it. Go on. They’ll both sleep till I 
finish this chapter, I liope.” 

Jean was unlike every other little one, even in her 
plays. Almost her only toys were paper dolls, as she 
called them, which consisted entirely of fine ladies and 
gentlemen cut from illustrated magazines and papers, 
for whom she also provided gorgeous furniture, mirrors, 
potted plants, ballroom vistas, summer cottages (seen 
in the distance) cozy fireplaces and elaborate bedsteads 
hung with rich curtains, such as royalty affects, all cut 
alike from illustrations, largely of an advertising char- 
acter. These Jean invested with the charms of a life 
as remote from her own as possible. Where she had 
procured her high-flown ideas no one understood, but 
she seemed naturally saturated with the atmosphere of 
courts. As she played she kept up a low, steady mono- 
logue of conversation, description, and biographical 
narrative. In her own too mature brain this somehow 
wove itself into a connected story, subdivided into chap- 
ters, and it was an affliction scarcely to be borne when 
she had to leave a chapter in the middle. Usually she 
required little attention and no discipline, but let the 
serene flow of her “ chapters ” be disturbed, and she 
sometimes became a little fury, beyond argument, or 
persuasion. Naturally, the family respected the even 
tenor of Jean’s biographies, and seldom interrupted 
them. So long as she did not take up too much space 
in the small rooms with her flat figures, pasted against 
the baseboard by a free application of tongue to their 
backs, she was let alone. And this was all she asked. 

Phjdlis kissed her hand from the doorway, and after 
Jean liad responded she bent again over her fetishes. 


THE BEGINNING, 


35 


“Phyl looked real sweet when she did that! My 
lady Genevieve shall do it, too, when Lord Erskine 
goes away, but first let me see, where was I ? Oh yes, 
the war had broke out and old Cuthbert — where are 
yon, Cuthbert? Oh here — Cuthbert comes to warn 
them at the castle, and the lord bids him sternly to be 
careful that it does not reach the ears of his fair 
daughter, Ermangilde, who is sick with chicken pox,” 
and so on for hours, in a rhapsody of imaginings mixed 
of impossible romance and quaint conceits, as odd and 
old as Jean herself. 

The elder sister went down the steps with a blithe 
step, glad in the beauty of a fair day, as youth can so 
easily be glad. It was but a short walk to Marjorie’s, 
and soon she turned in at the arched opening of the 
large apartment building occupied by the Mattesons, 
and lightly made the ascent of three flights to their 
door. Here her electric summons brought a small 
maid, who admitted her with an approving grin which 
seemed to stand for speech, for she attempted no 
answer to the rather surprised look and question of the 
visitor. Phyllis passed her swiftly, with scant cere- 
mony, and stepping through a somewhat pretentious 
little parlor she stood before a folding couch in tlie 
room beyond, which seemed a cross between a bed- 
room and library, where her sister, lying half asleep, 
with a paper covered book in her hand, opened dreamy 
eyes to greet her. Before she could speak Phyllis 
broke out, 

“ What's this, Marjie ? You haven’t a maid? ” 

“ Haven’t I ? ” sinking back again with a little laugh. 
“ Well, you may call her what you like, for she is a 


36 


BUBBLES. 


regular freak, but maid sounds better, I think, don’t 
you?” 

“ But Marjorie, how — can you ? ” 

“How can’t I? better say. Good gracious! Phyl, do 
you suppose I want to be always washing dishes ? I 
declare, I just begin to understand that you used to'* 
take a good deal of that sort of work off my shoulders 
at home. And how I hate it ! The very sight of the 
wretched things piled up in sticky heaps makes me 
wretched, and the dish-water — faugh I it is intolerable. 
But she’s a cheap one, so you needn’t worry, and she 
sleeps on a cot in the storeroom.” 

“ Poor creature I She looks like an idiot.” 

“ She is, almost. At least she cannot speak a dozen 
words of English, and I think understands less ; but 
she can scrub, and wash up the dinner things. As to 
cooking ” She ended with a shrug. 

Marjorie was looking her prettiest in a charming 
lounging gown, fluffy with lace and ribbons, which set 
off her rich complexion to advantage, Phyllis was 
foolishly fond of her beauty, though it had become so 
familiar, and now said involuntarily, 

“ How well you are looking I ” 

“ Yes, but I shouldn’t be if I had to toil all day in 
that little hole of a kitchen. Romayne said I was 
actually getting pale. Of course I did not need much 
urging,” laughing enough to show her milk-white teeth, 
like Jean’s, “and when Aunt Mabel sent a hundred 
dollars for his birthday gift, we thought we couldn't do 
better than to get one.” 

“ How nice I Then you’ve paid for those extra 
pieces — the chiffoniere and sideboard, and ” 


THE BEGINNING. 


37 


“ Oil no, not yet. There’s no hurry. The fact is, I 
must keep up my practising, or lose all I ever knew, so 
we’ve rented a piano.” 

“ You have ? ” Phyllis turned swiftly to look into 
the parlor. 

“ Oh, it hasn’t come yet, but I’m expecting it every 
minute. I was just thinking, when you came, that I 
must dress and be ready, but there’s no hurry now ; 
you can see to it. Where do you think it will look 
best, against that stretch of wall, or over by the front 
swell, sort of catecornering across that curve ? ” 

Phyllis was used to seeing to matters for Marjorie. 
She rose at once, and thoughtfully studied the situation. 
Either space seemed hopelessly cramped in the tiny 
room. “You might put it in the middle and chassee 
sidewise around it,” she remarked with merry sarcasm, 
then with some exasperation, “ Why couldn’t you have 
come home to practise, Marjie ? Your piano will be 
like the Vicar of Wakefield’s family portrait — it will 
throw everything else out of focus.” 

“Vicar who? I never heard of him. But how in 
the world can I play to Romayne evenings without a 
piano ? You’re a great American objector, Phyllis, and 
I think a piano will look fine in the swell.” 

At this instant the maid, with her grin, appeared in 
the rear doorway, gesticulating excitedly and uttering 
strange sounds amid which the words “ mans ” and 
“ coom ” were prominent. 

“ Do see what it is, Phyl, before she goes off in a 
spasm,” laughed Marjorie, “ and I’ll slip into my dress. 
I would not wonder if it’s the piano, itself.” 

It was, and thereupon ensued the usual Herculean 


38 


BUBBLES. 


feat of raising tlie heavy object up and into position. 
It was Phyllis who watched narrowly to save it from 
rubs against the door jambs, and who whisked the fur- 
niture aside to make room in the wee parlor, while 
Marjorie looked on helplessly, and the small maid man- 
aged to be exactly in the way at every turn, constantly 
uttering little giggly shrieks of excitement, and rush- 
ing hither and yon like a demented and decapitated 
hen. 

At length, in utter exasperation, Phyllis caught her 
by the arm and lead her to her own bit of a kitchen, 
where she placed her in a hastily improvised seat, con- 
sisting of the empty ashpail with a molding board 
across the top, and commanded her to remain there. 

“ On penalty of death, you understand ! ” she mut- 
tered, knowing the creature could not understand, and 
bound to have her fun out of the annoyances. “If you 
stir you shall be — ” she paused for a word, then added 
with awful solemnity — “ grilled ! ” 

The little Walloon looked at her in startled silence a 
moment, then broke into a grin again, and Phyllis left 
her, feeling it impossible to make an impression upon 
such stolidity. By this time the piano was in place 
across the curve and Marjorie, her great eyes glowing 
with satisfaction, just seating herself to try it. 

“ Isn’t it a sweet tone, Phjd ? And so resonant and 
clear. What company it will be for me ! I’ve been 
longing to try those Mikado airs. And you don’t think 
it fills up much, do 5^0 u ? ” stopping to whirl about on 
the stool and give a general survey. “ I’m sure there’s 
room enough.” 

“ Oceans ! ” cried Phyllis. “ Immeasurable space. 


THE BEGINNING. 


39 


“ Bat, my bestest, if it fills your heart half as full as * 
your parlor you must be more than content.” 

“ Indeed, I am ! I’ve just pined for a piano. Come, 
try this duo with me ; the alto is so pretty.” 

They sang together happily enough till Romayne 
came home, leaping up the several flights like a re- 
leased school boy. Marjorie flew to meet him, flinging 
the door wide with the words. 

It’s come, Romayne ! Did you hear us ? Isn’t it a 
dear ? ” 

“ A duck, a darling ! ” he cried, catching her beneath 
the arms for a little jump and flying kiss, before he set 
her safely back upon her feet. “ Hello Phyllis, glad to 
see you. Phew! isn’t it big? I never knew pianos 
were so gigantic before — regular megathuringama- 
bobs.” 

“ But not too big, Romayne ? You don’t really think 
it seems overcrowded. Why, see this vacant space in 
the middle. One could get as many as four chairs into 
it without their touching, I do believe.” 

“ Well, two at least — and that’s quite enough, isn’t 
it, puss ? With the sofa for Phyllis, of course. And 
are you pleased ; do you like the tone ? ” 

“ It’s superb. I shall be perfectly happy now. Think 
how we’ll all enjoy singing together ! ” 

“ To be certainly — but just now what are the dinner 
prospects ? I’m a wolf for appetite. Seen our new ap- 
purtenance, Phyl? The musde specimen in the kitchen, 

I mean.” 

She nodded, with dancing eyes. Phyllis was very 
fond of this easy, good-natured, over-generous young 
brother-in-law. She liked him for himself, but a good 


40 


BUBBLES. 


deal more because he was so good to her idolized Mar- 
jorie. She had a way of watching them, without seem- 
ing to see anything, and his tender, loving, boyish ways 
won her full esteem and confidence. A king among 
men who could have been cold to her beautiful Mar- 
jorie would have aroused only her disdain. 


CHAPTER IV. 


ANSON KINGSLEY. 

The young hostess now hastened out to supplement 
the little Gretchen’s crude efforts at dinner, and pres- 
ently they were seated about the small table before a 
repast over which even a romancist would hesitate to 
expand. It was eatable — for young appetites — but the 
words wholesome, or savory, would lose their high sig- 
nificance to be so debased. Yet, it was a jolly little 
dinner, too, for they only laughed over the burned 
steak, patiently picked the lumps out of the mashed 
potatoes, Romayne gravely heaping them beside his 
plate and referring to them occasionally as “ nuggets,” 
and made impossible guesses over a sickly looking side- 
dish they had been told to call cheesed spigetti. Phyl- 
lis slyly punned over the solid pudding, and added 
with frank appreciation that the nuts and water crack- 
ers were “done to a turn.” But while the girls were 
finishing their dessert Romayne began looking around 
him with an air of reserved force. 

“It’s well we have bakers in town,” he remarked 
suggestively. “ Marjie, I’m not half filled up yet, in 
spite of the pudding,” then stepping to the sideboard 
(one step was sufficient to reach it) he calmly repos- 
sessed himself of the bread and butter, cut and spread 
two great thick slices, like those of a street laborer’s 
luncheon, selected a juicy orange and two bananas, 
then, amid the laughter of Phyllis and protestations of 
41 


42 


BUBBLES. 


Ills wife, proceeded to make, as he expressed it, a 
“square meal.” 

Suddenly Marjorie asked him, 

“Oh, Romayne, did you bring the dish towels?” 

“ No, I didn’t,” he mumbled between his mouthfuls. 

“Why not?” sharply. “I told you to be sure and 
not forget.” 

“ Oh, I didn’t forget,” calmly, “ I simply couldn’t,” 
and he made a gesture toward his pockets, then rue- 
fully shook his head. “ I hadn’t the cash.” 

“But, dear me! We must have them; there aren’t 
enough to last from one wash day to another, and that 
girl gets them so filthy. What will we do ? ” 

“ Oh, I’ll get ’em in time. Have the lazy thing wash 
them out, can’t you? It was a case of my lunch, or 
the toweling to-day, and I naturally inclined to the 
former. Took a friend out with me, too. Don’t you 
remember, Marjie, my telling you about my old chum, 
Anson Kingsley? He’s a little the finest chap ever 
made, I think, and when he’d stop grubbing long 
enough to look at me, in the old college days, I was a 
happy man. I asked him up to dinner, too, but he had 
an engagement. However, he said if he could get off 
early he’d drop in before bedtime, and I hope he will. 
He’s the same old sober-sides ! Good as gold and dry 
as dust — you’d take to him, Phyl.” 

“I? Not from your description, I’m sure. Why 
should I ? People who are too good, and stupid be- 
sides — bah ? ” 

“Oh, but he isn’t. I didn’t mean it that way. He 
has more fun in him than a barrel of monkeys, only it 
is never noisy, like mine. He merely watches things 


ANSON KINGSLEY. 


43 


with a sly twinkle, and by-and-bye says something in a 
still way. Pretty soon it will begin to dawn upon you 
how clever it is, and the longer you think of it the 
more you’ll laugh, and the quaint little remark will 
stick by you like a proverb forever after.” 

“ How alarming ! ” cried Phyllis. “ I hope he is not 
very talkative.” 

Romayne gave her a sly push before him into the 
parlor, as he followed with Marjorie. 

“ You’ve got to like him ! ” he cried savagely, giving 
her still another push into an easy chair. “ What 
makes you bristle up so against young men, you little 
porcupine ? You know, in reality, you’re as soft as that 
cushion, only you’re afraid people will find it out.” 

“ Yes,” put in her sister, “ you might have as much 
attention as anybody, Phyllis Dunlap, if you wouldn’t 
keep the boys off so with your little sarcastic flings. 
Why don’t you ” 

“ Attention ? Fiddlestrings ! Who would look at 
plain me in this beauty-loving age ? You’re a bit in- 
sane, Marjorie.” 

“I’m not, either. You’re as pretty as most girls ” — 
Phyllis interrupted with a merry laugh — “well, as a 
good many, then. You have fairly good features and 
lovely hair, and” — “Neither style, nor color, nor bril- 
liancy, nor fascination.” 

“But as sweet and sensible a face as ever helped a 
poor sinner to Heaven, sister mine,” interposed Ro- 
mayne with hearty appreciation. “ One has to learn it, 
perhaps, and what’s back of it — for you simply won’t 
put your best foot forward — but once learned it’s a 
mighty pleasant little phiz.” 


44 


BUBBLES, 


Phyllis rose and bowed profoundly, her hand on her 
heart, and Romayne, shaking his fist at her, called on 
Marjorie for some music, but before she could reach 
the piano the front door bell announced a visitor. 

It proved to be the expected guest, and when Ro- 
mayne had subsided from his vociferous greetings and 
proud introductions, they reseated themselves, of neces- 
sity so close together that Phyllis found it difficult to 
secure a really good look at the stranger, without seem- 
ing to stare at him. Yet she soon gathered that he was 
a well-proportioned fellow with suggestions of athletic 
force in his close-knit figure, and of solidity and square- 
ness in his whole make-up, which would have made a 
carpenter feel that he was set plumb on his lines. His 
large feet held him in easy uprightness, his round head 
rose solidly upon his columnar throat, his chin was large, 
square-cut and clean-shaven, his forehead ample, his 
crown shapely and well thatched with straight chest- 
nut hair, his eyes wide apart and clear as plate-glass 
windows, his teeth white and firm. 

Nobody would have called him handsome, or wished 
to, so satisfying was his manly strength. He spoke in 
a low tone with distinctness, seldom laughed, and his 
smile was but a ripple of light passing quickly ; but his 
eyes looked deep into your own, his hand-clasp en- 
wrapped you from all sense of peril, his whole manner 
suggested safety and repose. 

All this Phyllis felt without putting the impression 
into worded thought, and a bit of a smile played pleas- 
antly about her mouth. 

“I must like him, must I? Well, I can perhaps 
begin by respecting him, at least.” 


ANSON KINGSLEY. 


45 


For a time Romayne rather monopolized the talk, as 
he was apt to, and the two had many reminiscences in 
common. It became at once evident that their connec- 
tion in college had been entirely through mutual inter- 
est in athletics, Romayne having belonged to a team of 
which Kingsley was the captain. Neither pretended to 
go at all into the mental work of those days, and Ro- 
mayne frankly confessed, afterward, that he never even 
tried to follow Anson there. He had been a “grub,” 
and had even “ taken honors and all that foolishness,” 
a fact that seemed really to lower him in that young 
man’s eyes. It was not long, however, before Anson 
Kingsley asked a question which brought the ladies into 
the conversation, and it became general. The relative 
merits of east and west, as connected with our own 
country, came up for discussion, and Marjorie remarked, 
“ Oh, I greatly prefer the east, though I was never 
there till lately. The society is so good, and there are 
so many delightful resorts, and people seem to have so 
much more time to enjoy themselves. Why, here, peo- 
ple almost make it a crime to just have a good time — 
it’s absurd ! ” 

“ That’s all right, but it’s too cut and dried there,” 
objected Romayne. “There are no surprises; it’s dull. 
Makes me think of one of their own lawns, where not 
even a daisy or dandelion dares to show up. I like 
wide fields better where you don’t know what may meet 
you, from weeds to Avild bulls, before you get through. 
That's exciting — that’s life ! ” 

“ Or death,” put in Phyllis softly. 

“Well, I like the lawn,” was Marjorie’s decision, 
given without noticing her sister’s side whisper. , “You 


46 


BUBBLES. 


can’t get things too smooth and soft and velvety for me. 
Let daisies and dandelions stay outside the fence where 
they belong, if I am only inside.” 

The visitor’s glance took them all in with a certain 
indidgence that did not hinder full comprehension, then 
seemed to turn inwards. 

“ The west is broad and full of possibilities,” he said. 
“One can breathe there, and one can grow. But we fit 
into place and learn content more quickly east, and if 
one likes room we have it off our Massachusetts shores, 
as well as you off your state lines.” 

“ Oh, the sea ! ” cried Phyllis. “ And that is full of 
possibilities and beckoning hopes, too. I shall never 
be quite satisfied till I have met the sea.” 

His eyes met hers with quick appreciation. 

“I am glad you feel so. A lady of your city said 
to me yesterday, ‘I loathe the sea. It suggests only 
treachery, storms, deep pits of despair, and slimy horrors 
too awful to dream of. I would not cross it if a king- 
dom were waiting for me on the other side.’ I can’t 
understand such a feeling. I have an awe of the sea 
but no terror, nor distrust. It seems to me like a deep- 
natured woman who may be terrible at times, but never 
tricky, or petty; even her faults are large, and in serene 
moods she is divine.” 

“Well, I’m not quick at these high-flown compari- 
sons,” said Romayne, suppressing a yawn. “ The sea 
only suggests jolly tars, and a run across to Paris, or 
some of Rudyard Kipling’s best yarns, to me. I 
wouldn’t mind being a sailor, mj^self. And you’ve de- 
cided to take to tlie law, Anse ? ” 

“ Yes. I have been fortunate enough to be taken in 


ANSON KINGSLEY. 


47 


by Gannet and James. Judge Gaiinet was a friend of 
my father's.” 

Romayne looked him over with an odd expression. 

“ George ! Anson, you’re too honest for a lawyer.” 

Anson smiled. 

“ Not at all. I couldn’t be. A lawyer should be the 
most honest man in existence. His business is for 
others, and he sliould be absolutely trustworthy.” 

“ Oh pshaw ! ^Not to make a success of it, Kingsley.” 

“We were not speaking of success,” returned the 
other calmly, and Phyllis, looking quickly up with a 
kindling eye, caught his level glance. A spark of sym- 
pathy, subtle yet keen, seemed to flash between them. 
She found herself repeating his words to herself, “ ‘ We 
were not speaking of success.’ No,” she thought, “he 
recognizes other things — he was thinking of honor, of 
right.” 

Presently, somewhat to her own astonishment, for 
she was not easily interested in strangers, she found 
herself saying, 

“ I should never have taken you for an eastern man, 
Mr. Kingsley.” 

He turned to her quickly. 

“ You think me too rough, too unfinished,” he said, 
hardly making the words interrogative in tone. “ Yes, 
I do incline to ruggedness rather than polish,” then, 
letting the twinkle Romayne had mentioned creep into 
his clear eyes, he added, “ But we have differing types 
even in Massachusetts ; we do not all wear glasses, for 
instance.” 

Phyllis laughed. 

“ Oh, you add so many meanings to my simple out- 


48 


BUBBLES. 


burst that I have really forgotten my first thought! 
You know we always place people in our minds, and I 
had put you as far as Colorado, at least. You made 
me, somehow, think of mountains and — and gold mines 
perhaps,” laughing and flushing slyly. 

Romayne gave an amused laugh. 

‘‘What! A compliment from Phyllis? Can I be- 
lieve my ears? I swear to j^ou, Anse, she is usually as 
far removed from blarneyism as a Dutchman.” 

“ It was not blarneyism ! ” cried Phyllis with spirit. 
“ Can’t one be truthful in your company without being 
called to account? ” 

“ Ho, ho ! Worse and more of it ” — began the young 
host again, but Anson cut him short with a question, 
and the little incident passed over without further no- 
tice. 

Romayne finally inquired after Mrs. Kingsley, and 
his guest answered. 

“ Yes, mother will come on as soon as I can find a 
suitable place for her. We intend to keep house to- 
gether, and I want to find a pretty little flat like this.” 

Phyllis, though a bit discomfited b}^ Romayne’s jok- 
ing, had collected herself enough to see that as Mr. 
Kingsley mentioned his mother it was Avith so proud 
and tender a cadence no one could doubt his apprecia- 
tion of her. 

“ How fond he is of her ! ” thought Phyllis. “ I 
wonder if she is at all like him.” 

He went somewhat into details of future plans then, 
but after a moment, seeming to think he had talked 
enough of personal matters, turned to his fair hostess 
with the remark, 


ANSON KINGSLEY. 


49 


“You must love music to give it so large a place in 
your home, Mrs. Matteson ” — as he spoke he edged 
further from the piano, against which his chair seemed 
determined to graze — “and I’m fond of it, too. Why 
can’t we all try some college glees a while ? ” 

The proposition met with instant favor. Marjorie 
and her sister soon found their voices supported by a 
rich, deep bass, in which Romayne’s light tenor was al- 
most swallowed up. They sang for an hour or so, 
charmed v/ith their own efforts, and growing better and 
better acquainted during the breezy bits of talk be- 
tween the numbers. When Phyllis, at a later hour 
than usual, began a hasty search for her wraps, and 
Romayne for his hat, neither was greatly surprised to 
hear Mr. Kingsley say, 

“ If your sister does not object I can see her home, 
Romayne. I’ve plenty of time before the last car up 
town,” but Marjorie was a little surprised to hear her 
answer serenely, 

“ Thank you, Mr. Kingsley. Fortunately— for you— 
I do not live more than three squares away, so you will 
not be long delayed.” 

4 


CHAPTER V. 


Marjorie’s social duties. 

Young Mrs. Matteson was one of those charming 
people wlio have hosts of friends, and in this respeet 
she divided honors with her husband, who was ap- 
parently on intimate terms with all whom he met ; 
therefore her plea of loneliness and the need of a j^iano 
for company, was not so forceful as it might have been. 
Indeed, there were few hours of the da}^ or evening, 
that she was alone in her rooms, and each inaugurated 
some new pleasure. 

All this was delightful, but not wholly satisfying to 
Marjorie. She had company enough, perhaps, but its 
quality ^vas not exactly to her mind. These school 
friends of her own, and fellow clerks of Romayne’s, 
were pleasant young people, but hardly “society,” as 
she interpreted the word. For Marjorie was ambitious ; 
she longed to shine. In just what manner she intended 
to become luminous she had not decided, but she felt it 
might be necessary to begin with reflecting another’s 
light. She would have to cultivate some shiner, 
and gradually substitute her own less desired rays. 
This was a legitimate process in society, and as open to 
her as anybody. 

' Meanwhile, the commonplace young people who en- 
joyed a care-free evening, unspoiled by such desires, 
after their busy day, continued to drop in almost 
nightly, never dreaming they might thus be putting 
50 * 


MARJORIE^S SOCIAL DUTIES. 


51 


out the rush-light of their pretty hostess. After two 
or three months of these “ early and informals ” the 
Mattesons awoke to the fact that even light refresh- 
ments, served often, became a large item of expense, 
and when the bills came pouring in from butcher, 
baker, and tinned-can-goods maker, Romayne suddenly 
developed a temper. “ Good gracious ! Marjorie,” he 
cried, waving a significant blue paper in her face, 
“ what in the name of ” 

“ Romayne Matteson, if you swear, I shall go right 
straight home ! ” 

“I’m not swearing at you, but at this old grocery 
firm, Tubbs & Carter. Just look at their charge for 
lemons, and sugar, and fancy wafers, and cakes, and 
deviled ham, and things — deviled., I should say — why 
its preposterous ! We couldn’t eat all that stuff in a 
decade. I ” 

“ Do, Romayne, stop shouting so ! You needn’t tell 
all the people in the building, and besides you make my 
head ache. I’m sure they are a nice enough firm, and 
as obliging as can be. It’s a way you men have of 
taking on over bills — papa always does. Now, what’s 
the use? It doesn’t make them any smaller, as I see. 
The best way, I should think, would be to go in a 
dignified manner and say, ‘ Mr. Tubbs, (or Carter, 
wliichever it may be,) this bill is too large. Just 
make it smaller, please, and I’ll pay you.’ I should 
never have any trouble over such a trifling matter.” 

Romayne broke into a harsh, sardonic laugh, entirely 
unlike his usual hearty peal. 

“ What a fool you are, Marjorie ! One would think 
you half ” 


52 


BUBBLES. 


His wife, who had been somewhat listlessly lounging 
in a large chair, sprang to her feet, galvanized into 
acute life, and faced him with blazing eyes. 

“ Romayne Matteson, this is too much ! I will not 
be insulted by anybody. I did suppose you were a 
gentleman, at least.” 

She hurried into the next room, and he could hear 
her stepping quickly about, as if intent upon carrying 
out some sudden resolution. Was she indeed going 
home ? He had no tliought of being really angry with 
her, in all this vexation, and the idea of Imr taking his 
impulsive words so ill half amused while it wholly 
annoyed him. It was all so childlike, so illogical. Pie 
wished, now, he had kept tlie bill, and his own counsel, 
and paid it as he could; only bills were coming in too 
importunately for comfort of late, and this one really 
did seem outrageous. 

He heard her step quickly across the narrow private 
hall out into the building’s central corridor : she cer- 
tainly was going home, and it was now nearing nine 
and quite dark for a summer’s evening. He caught his 
hat from the hook and followed with great leaps down 
the stairway. As he emerged upon the street she was 
just passing swiftly under the electric light on the 
corner, and he at once resolved to let her keep ahead, 
if she chose, so long as she was in sight. 

He knew by her swift pace and a certain uneasy 
bend of her lissome body that she was frightened at 
being thus alone, but determined still, so resolved to 
let her “ have her head,” as he expressed it to himself, 
and smiled a little, while all the time longing to shake 
her well for her folly. The street she turned into, to 


MARJORIE'S SOCIAL DUTIES. 


53 


reach her father’s residence was quite retired. No one 
appeared in sight as she rounded the corner, and 
Roraayne’s ringing footsteps behind presently attracted 
her notice. He saw her fling a swift glance backward 
and quicken her pace ; he quickened his, but not un- 
duly — there was a distance of perhaps three rods be- 
tween them yet, and the house nearly two blocks away. 

It was a bit cruel of the husband, but in his present 
mood he enjoyed his cruelty. He knew that Marjorie, 
always an arrant coward at night, was suffering from 
this strange following. Soon he narrowed the space 
between them, no one yet being visible on either side 
of the street, and his feet struck with determined quick- 
ness upon the cement pavement. Marjorie flung back 
her head despairingly, and lier one glance backward 
showed a tall figure almost at her side. 

With a stifled cry she broke into a run. Her long 
skirts flapped about her feet, her heels caught in the 
lace edging of her stiff petticoats, nearly upsetting her, 
she felt the pins of her hat giving way and her hair 
falling down, while her heart beat to suffocation in the 
close air of the summer night. She was certain she 
should faint soon, or fall in an apoplexy, and was about 
to break into frantic shrieks when Romayne’s heart 
misgave him. 

“ Marjorie ! ” he shouted, racing after her. “ Mar- 
jorie, you ’ll be sick if you run so. Wait I ” 

A cry — how different a cry ! — answered him ; the 
tottering figure turned and leaped to his embrace, her 
own arms clasping him close, and she lay against liis 
breast murmuring between the sobbing gasps, “Oh 
Romayne, Romayne ! ” in her relief and penitence. 


54 


BUBBLES. 


They went home together, and neither thought to 
ask the other’s forgiveness, but it made Romayne re- 
solve to manage his bills alone in future. Marjorie 
cried some and laughed a good deal, in a shamefaced 
manner, but after one or two attempts to joke her over 
the affair, later, he gave it up forever ; it was evi- 
dently too sore a subject for levity. 

For a time the informal parties were discontinued, 
and Tubbs and Carter saw with regret that the Mat- 
teson’s orders grew less lavish, but when a month, or 
two, had bridged the unpleasantness, Marjorie, still 
secretly desirous of social eminence, found herself in a 
position where, as she explained to herself, she “ really 
must act'' 

“ I’ve had such a delightful idea ! ” she imparted to 
Phyllis, rushing in one morning, rosy with the heat and 
her resolve, “ and when we’ve planned it all out to- 
gether we will spring it on Romayne. You know the 
Sternwell girls who are visiting Kate McVeigh? ” 

“As well as is necessary, perhaps — but what of 
them ? ” 

“ Now, Ph5d, why need you be so sarcastic and dif- 
ficult? They are awfully stylish girls and as rich as 
you please, and everybody has made much of them, ex- 
cept us.” 

“And why should we when we are not of their world 
at all ? ” Marjorie turned upon her with fierceness. 

“Phyllis, have you no sense? We are, too— or 
might be if we tried a little. They say the family live 
elegantly at home in New York. Now, do you suppose 
they will ever invite us there if we pay them no atten- 
tion whatever ? ” 


MARJORIE'S SOCIAL DUTIES. 


55 


“Certainly not — nor if we do. Why should they ? 
For my part I don’t care to be invited.” 

“ Mamma,” cried Marjorie, turning desperately to 
Mrs. Dunlap, who had just entered, “ don’t you think 
she is horrid to talk so ? I want her to enthuse over 
entertaining those Stern wells and she says she never 
wants them to invite us at all.” 

“ You are provoking, Phyllis ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Dun- 
lap, dropping into a chair with a wearied movement. 
“ Of course such things must be talked over and man- 
aged a little.” 

Jean looked up from her corner, where she was in- 
tent on a “ chapter,” and surveyed the three solemnly 
for a moment. 

“Don’t you ever ’vite folks ’less they can ask you?” 
she questioned, with some anxiety. “ My lady Gen- 
evieve is going to give a party soon, and I want to 
know. I ask girls to come and play with me, if I like 
’em, whether I go to their houses, or not.” 

“ Oh, go on with your dolls, child,” said her mother 
fretfully, “ and do let us talk. Between you and baby 
I had a night of it, and I want to rest now. Just 
think, Marjorie, the baby with croup, and Jean scream- 
ing with nightmare enough to raise the roof. I 
scarcely slept a wink.” 

“ In other words hot biscuits for one, and lace-yoked 
gowns for the other,” explained Phyllis succinctly. 

“But when can Fay wear those pretty slips if not in 
summer?” whined Mrs. Dunlap. 

“ I suppose she might leave them off entirely, so long 
as she always takes cold with them on,” said the girl in 
a tone that softened the words. “ There are only two 


56 


BUBBLES. 


of them which might be made into skirts, and give poor 
baby a chance. Indeed, it would be economy in the 
end.” 

‘‘Nonsense, Phyl I You’re as full of notions as a 
Yankee, and that way of having a reason for everything 
is simply horrid. Babies always have croup, and you’re 
not sure it’s hot biscuits with Jean. She has had those 
queer night spells from a baby.” 

“ Yes, whenever she has eaten unwholesome food,” 
repeated Phyllis firmly. Then, with an abrupt change 
of subject, “ Tell me your plan about the Stern wells, 
Marjie ; you know I am always ready to follow your 
lead, if I am offish and hateful.” 

The tone of concession was eagerly welcomed. Phyl- 
lis might be disagreeable with her reasons, at times, but 
her services were too valuable to be dispensed with, 
when actual work was to be done, or planned. Marjo- 
rie answered at once, 

“ I was going to propose a sort of picnic — a trip to 
Clear Lake, our luncheon on the hillside near by, then 
a ride about the place. They say the scenery is de- 
lightful.” 

“ Carriages ? ” cried Phyllis aghast, “ They’ll cost a 
little fortune.” 

“ Yes, but there’ll be only three for an hour, or so — 
we will go to the lake by train, you see — and then, if 
it is a basket affair, we can save there.” 

“ Oh ! ” remarked her sister in a peculiar tone. 

“ Well, what now ? ” Marjorie faced her with cheeks 
suddenly flaming, and her provoking sister burst into 
an irrepressible laugh of enjoyment. 

“ Pardon ! Pardon ! ” she cried merrily, raising one 


MAEJOIUE^S SOCIAL DUTIES. 


57 


hand in deprecation, “ Only you are so odd, child. 
You go from lavishness to stinginess and back again, 
like a pendulum gone crazy, and before I can finish my 
lecture on one I have to begin on the other. Really, 
Marjie, will it not seem like asking the McVeighs to 
entertain their guests for your benefit, if you notify 
them to bring their own luncheon ? ” 

“But that’s the way they always do at picnics ” 

“ Why do you use that old-fashioned word ? ” put in 
Mrs. Dunlap, looking up from her sewing. “ They had 
picnics when I was a girl. Can’t you call it a fete, or 
an outing, or something ? ” 

“An al fresco reception, for instance,” added Phyllis 
demurely. But Marjorie was too much in earnest for 
joking. 

“ Oh, we can call it all right ” — the little matron was 
visibly pouting now — “ but if Phyllis is going to throw 

cold water on everything ” 

Jean glanced up quickly, with an expectant air, but 
seeing no moisture flying through the air sighed a little 
over the intricacies of grown-up talk, and laid the ex- 
pression by for future use among her more satisfac- 
tory ladies of paper and ink. She afterward made her 
Lady Genevieve tell the lord of the castle she had in- 
tended to have dinner on the lawn that night, but the 
servants had thrown water over it, and spoiled every- 
thing. 

“But I am not, Marjie,” Phyllis hastened to declare 
in something of a hurt tone. “If it must be, and you 
think this the best and cheapest way, of course I’ll do 
all I can to help you out. Now, tell me just what is 
required of me, please.” 


58 


BUBBLES. 


“ Oh, no, I don’t think I’ll try it — not unless I serve 

everything myself, and ” 

“ Yes, do give it up, dear ! Who cares for the Stern- 
wells and their New York splendor? How much nicer 

if just a few of us, you and Romayne and I ” 

“And Anson Kingsley,” laughed Mrs. Matteson, her 
fair face dimpling once more. “ I suppose you don’t 
see enough of him, though one would think four or five 
calls a week ” 

“ Sh ! ” Blushing Phyllis flung a meaning glance 
toward Jean. “Don’t exaggerate, madam ! And be- 
sides, I wasn’t going to say — him, but mention a few 
we are specially indebted to, as the Parkes, for instance.” 

“ Bah ! Those old frumps ? They have taught those 
freedmen down south till they are fairly niggery them- 
selves. And how they dress ! ” 

“ They are noble, self-sacrificing women who think 
more of others’ good than of their own costumes,” cried 
Phyllis indignantly. “ They invited you twice as a 
bride, while those McVeighs have been scarcely civil.” 

“But they don’t have to be. They are away up; 
think how they live ! ” 

“ I have thought — entirely for themselves.” 

“You know what I mean. Their house, their butler, 
their carriages, their parties, their gowns from Paris.” 

“ Yes dear, they live as we never can. Why not let 
them go on living so, if they must, and we get all the 
good we can out of our way. I hate toadyism ! ” 

“It isn’t that. It’s because we are really their 
equals— just as agreeable, as well educated, as capable 
of shining in their circle. We have everything except 
the money. Barring that, we are just as good as they.” 


MARJORIE^ S SOCIAL DUTIES. 


59 


“ I had hoped we were better,” sighed the younger 
girl. “If I did not sometimes have a thought for 
others, and a desire for a few things neither money 
nor influence can buy, I would fall back and bow to 
your McVeighs and Sternwells. As it is” — She shook 
her head a trifle, and crossed the room to the small 
bookcase. Books w^re not plenty in the house, and 
the few there were belonged to Phyllis by right of pur- 
chase and interest, for she alone had entered in and 
taken possession of their treasures. She took down a 
well-thumbed volume and opened it, with little search, 
to a certain page, from which she gravely read these 
words, 

“ ‘ My life is not an apology, but a life. It is for itself, 
and not for a spectacle. I much prefer that it should 
be of a lower strain, so it be genuine and equal, than 
that it should be glittering and unsteady. I wished it to 
be sound and sweet, and not to need diet and bleeding. 
My life should be unique ; it should be an alms, a bat- 
tle, a conquest, a medicine.* *’ 

Then she closed the little book and put it back in its 
niche. 

“ I don’t see as that is specially appropriate ; who 
says it ? ” asked Marjorie sulkily. 

“ Emerson,” was the brief reply. 

“ Well, who cares ? I mean to invite the Sternwells, 
anyhow, so you might as well be prepared to keep your 
promise, and help me through with it. We can’t 
always live by the book, you know. And first, I want 
you to write the invitations. You can do it so much 
better than I.” 

“ Very well.” 


60 


BUBBLES, 


Phyllis’s lips shut somewliat firmly, but her eyes kept 
a steady smile as she seated herself before the desk and 
let down the lid. 

“ Give me the names, please,” taking up a pen and 
holding it suspended over the ink-well. 

“ But wait ; I’ve the stationery here.” 

Marjorie produced a box and, removing its cover, 
placed it before her sister. Phyllis glanced into it and 
started back. A sharp exclamation was upon the tip 
of her tongue, but she bit it off in time. For upon the 
dainty upper sheet was neatly engraved a small mono- 
gram below a crest and coat of arms. Marjorie, dread- 
ing censure or ridicule, began a voluble explanation. 

“We really have a right to it, Phyl — on Romayne’s 
side. You know the family have their genealogy 
traced away back to a French count — D’Aulney it was 
spelled then. I got Romayne to copy it off for me 
when he was home on business the other day, and 
we’ve adopted it.” 

“ Oh Marjorie, Marjorie, how absurd ! A dry -goods 
clerk in a five-room fiat. Is this our boasted repub- 
licanism in great America ? ” 

“ But we won’t always be in a flat, nor he a clerk. 
We’re bound to rise, and I don’t care a fig about repub- 
licanism. We might be situated differently even now,, 
if Aunt Mabel wasn’t so stingy. That’s what he went 
to see about last week. He wants to buy into the firm, 
and it would only take a few thousands now, for they 
need ready money, but she was perfectly obstinate. 
She declared they did not have it to give, when every- 
body knows how rich they are.” 

“ Who knows? Does Romayne? ” 


MARJORIE^ S SOCIAL DUTIES. 


61 


“No, she is awfully close-mouthed about their affiiirs 
and has never told him, but ” 

“ Then how should everybody know, my dear ? If 
she won’t tell her own nephew she certainly will not 
the rest of the world. 

“ But you don’t understand. The house is elegant ; 
some of the finest paintings, and exquisite silver, and 
books by the cart load. Then, the acres of land at 
Fairhaven all in pleasure grounds, and everything ! Of 
course they’re rich.” 

“ But it is as it has been for years and years, Ro- 
mayne says. The Olneys evidently take care of their 
property, yet aside from the home they may have but 
little.” 

“ Pshaw ! I believe they are stingy.” 

“And I dont/'' firmly. “But come, give your 
names, Marjie, and let’s have this al fresco folderol off 
our minds.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE GUEST WHO CAME. 

Marjorie found other difficulties to encounter be- 
sides her sister’s “notions,” but she only grew more 
determined as they thickened in her path. To begin 
with, it had seemed impossible to make a date, so inun- 
dated were the McVeighs and their friends with en- 
gagements. Possibly, too, the idea of a day’s outing, 
even amid the vaunted beauties of Clear Lake, did not 
strike them as wildly exciting after their balls and 
routs. They certainly showed less eagerness than was 
agreeable, and when they were finally booked the 
weather went off on a tangent, the wind veering to the 
east and bringing on one of those chill, sodden drizzles, 
which would sap the courage of a king-bird. 

Phjdlis secretly hoped this would dampen Marjorie’s 
ardor, but it did not. She calmly waited for it to clear 
away, telling all who would listen that three days was 
the limit of these storms, with a knowledge of me- 
teorology doubtless developed by stress of circum- 
stances, and her faith was rewarded. The fourth 
morning, and that of the eventful date, dawned clear 
and fair, with a soft south wind laughing the remnants 
of cloud away, to leave a freshness and sparkle in the 
atmosphere only possible after such a drenching. She 
refrained from any “I told you so!” but her manner 
62 


THE GUEST WHO CA3IE. 


63 


was eloquent. Phyllis hastened to offer congratula- 
tions the instant she arrived, and Marjorie responded 
with real self-restraint, 

“Yes, the weather seeiiis made for us to-day.” 

“ But where is Romayne ? Couldn’t he get his va- 
cation now?” asked the girl again, looking anxiously 
around, for there had been a doubt of that amid all the 
rest of the discouragements. 

“ Oh yes, but he has run down to the first floor 
a minute. Mrs. Crandall is to let me take her new 
parasol — it’s such a beauty ! There he comes now.” 

But the ascending step proved to be that of Anson 
Kingsley instead, who sprang up the stairway as boy- 
ishly eager as Romayne himself. 

“Isn’t it a fine day? ” stopping to shake hands with 
Marjorie, while his eyes sent a warmer, if less out- 
spoken, greeting to the young face beyond, which to 
him was even more attractive than the beautiful one 
before which he bent. “I’m sure,” hurrying on to 
Phyllis, “your sister must have found special favor 
with Old Probabilities to hit it off so exactly. But 
where’s Romayne ? ” 

“ Coming ! ” called that young man from the outer 
door, which he was just entering. “ Glad you’re on 
hand, old fellow I There’s your defiance to Paul Pry, 
madam,” flinging a handsome white sunshade lightly 
into his wife’s outstretched hand. “ Seems to me it’s 
far too fine for the occasion, though.” 

“ So you’ve been chasing up your wife’s belongings, 
eh ? ” shaking hands warmly. “ It is almost too pretty 
for the country solitudes, Mrs. Matteson, but there will 
always be plenty to carry it for you, never fear ! ” 


64 


BUBBLES. 


Romayne nodded somewhat abstractedly, and fol- 
lowed his wife, as she excused herself a moment. 

“ Say,” he whispered mysteriously in the further 
room, “ I imagine Mrs. Crandall wasn’t any too anxious 
to lend it. She staid out an unconscionable time 
mumbling to somebody in the next room, and I thought 
I could catch such words as ‘ cheeky ’ and ‘ imperti- 
nent’ now and then. Do women usually lend and 
borrow such toggery ? ” 

“ To be sure ! ” laughed Marjorie. “ At school we 
wouldn’t wear our own hats and wraps half tlie time. 
Mrs. Crandall better not say anything — a woman that 
makes up as she does ! I could tell a tale, or two — 
here ! this is the basket you are to take, and that small 
grip is for me. Now, don’t tip it too much for there’s 
some cream in a glass jar, and the cover may not be 
perfectly tight. And one thing Romayne, whatever 
else you do you must be attentive to Miss Sternwell. 
The younger one, Natalie, will have beaux enough, 
she’s so pretty, but that Miss Frances is so frightfully 
plain ” 

“I should think so!” groaned Romayne. “Well, 
I’ve my lesson ; keep the cream steady and keep steady 
to Miss Sternwell — guess I can stand it for one day. 
But come on, or we’ll miss the train. It’s past nine 
now.” 

All had agreed to meet at the union depot, and 
when our quartette arrived there they were hailed by 
another, who were standing on the wide platform out- 
side, in merry conversation. These were the least de- 
sirable of the expected dozen, Marjorie secretly felt, 
for they belonged to that dark age she was desirous of 


THE GUEST WHO CA3IE. 


65 


leaving behind when her shining process began ; the 
young men being Romayne’s associates in the store, 
and the young ladies teachers in the public schools. 
Naturally they could not be looked upon as fit associates 
for a family who could write their monogram under the 
coronet of a French count. Never doubting their wel- 
come, however, or their standing with the host and 
hostess, they now greeted each familiarly, and took up 
the praises of the weather which had deigned to smile 
in such good time. 

“Are you the only girls who have come? Or are 
there more inside ? ” asked Marjorie, trying not to seem 
anxious. 

“We’re all, yet, but it’s ten minutes to train time,” 
answered one of the young men, with a laugh at his 
own inaptness. “ I thought you’d wear your golf togs, 
Matteson.” 

“ I wanted to. Price, but my wife concluded I’d better 
not, as host. Glad you did, though. Why didn’t you, 
Thompson ? ” turning to the other, who had a somewhat 
heavy, but sensible, face. 

“ Best reason in the world — I haven’t any. Golf 
doesn’t come my way often enough to warrant an extra 
suit, you see. Hope I’m admissible in my business suit? ” 

“ Of course, of course. Where away, Marjie ? ” 

“ I thought I’d step over to the carriage side,” but as 
her eye beckoned he obediently followed. “ Romayne,” ^ 
she whispered as he came up witli her, “ what if the 
McVeighs don’t come?” Her voice was almost tragic 
in its intensity. 

“ Come ? Nonsense ! Of course they’ll come, child. 
Didn’t they accept ? ” 

5 


66 


BUBBLES. 


“ Yes they did, but — what time have you?” 

‘‘ Don’t fret,” looking at his watch. “ They’ll come 
dashing up in a carriage right on the tick of the minute ; 
you know the ways of these people. They like to pro- 
duce a sensation.” 

Marjorie knew this was true, and her heart lightened. 
They looked out through the carriage entrance, but saw 
no veliicle approaching, and no familiar forms inside the 
enclosure, so slowly retraced their steps. 

“We must be civil to these who have come,” ad- 
monished Romayne, but Marjorie felt she did not care. 
She had entertained these others a dozen times, and 
there was nothing to gain by it. It had gone against 
her even to invite them with this new circle she had 
introduced, hoping soon to be merged into it, but be- 
cause of Phjdlis and her husband had thought best not 
to throw over such old friends quite so lightly. Ro- 
mayne broke in upon her bitter musings. 

“How pretty Janette Miller looks to-day! No one 
would ever think her an overworked pedagogue, with 
those bright eyes and dancing dimples.” 

“But what a dowdy hat! She wore it all last sum- 
mer,” said Marjorie. Then, in a spiteful tone, “ You 
can’t say as much for Sara Blake. Isn’t she growing 
old fast? She never was pretty, and soon she won’t be 
even young.” 

“ Well, she can dispense with both. Her strong 
points are her pleasant ways and good horse sense. I 
like her, and I thought you did too, Marjie,” giving her 
a surprised glance. 

“Oh I do, I do!” pettishly. “Well girls,” raising 
her voice as they approached the party, who were evi- 


THE GUEST WHO CA3IE. 


G7 


dently enjoying themselves thoroughly, “we seem to 
number a small and insignifican"t crowd to-day.” 

Romayne flashed an angry glance at her. She cer- 
tainly need not be rude. 

“Anything but insignificant,” he cried, swelling him- 
self importantly. 

“ And, if small, most congenial,” added Phyllis. “For 
my part, I like small parties.” 

Marjorie glowered at her — if so pretty a woman can 
glower. 

“Oh, yes,” she thought, “yau have Anson Kingsley, 
and that is enough. How selfish people are in this 
world ! ” 

True as trite, yet she never thought of making a per- 
sonal application of the words. 

The guard now came to call the train, and she began 
to sicken with suspense. Would they never come? 
What could it mean ? She looked searchingly from end 
to end of the long building ; she felt half maddened by 
the careless ease of the rest. When Romayne remarked 
lightly, “Well, we’ll have to be getting aboard,” she 
promptly turned her back on him, determined not to 
stir until the luminaries of her new solar system should 
consent to appear. Then pride came to her aid and she 
drew herself together, resolved not to care, or not to 
show it, at least. Did those McVeighs, who were the 
vulgar descendants of a blacksmith who had patented 
a new wagon and made himself millionaire, dare to 
snub her like this, her the wife of a man whose ances- 
tors hobnobbed with royalty? But it was a sorry feint 
at bravery. Her eye and ear were so intent on each 
newcomer that neither could catch the nearer expres- 


68 


B UBBLES. 


sioiis of the little group, now slowly walking toward the 
gates. Suddenly she stopped short. 

“ There is another train in an hour. Why can’t we 
wait for that ? ” she said unsteadily. “ I — I hate to leave 
a part of my guests behind.” 

There was a universal groan from the group, and 
Romayne gave a dismayed whistle, ending with a shout, 

“ There’s somebody now ! ” 

Sure enough. A boy came dashing down the plat- 
form, waving a covered basket and calling unintelligi- 
bly. Marjorie recognized him for Terence McVeigh, 
or Terry for short, a youth nearing thirteen, much be- 
freckled across his snub nose, and bearing other disa- 
greeable marks of unsubdued boyhood. 

“ Hello ! ” he cried, bounding into their midst, and 
nearly upsetting Miss Miller. “ I’ve come ’stead of the 
girls. They slept too late after the ball last night, so 
ma said I might come and bring the basket — ’twas all 
packed. She said you wouldn’t care, and I’ve got cash 
of my own to put up for my part of everything, so 
’twon’t cost you a cent ! Say, can I go ? ” 

Marjorie had flushed a deep angry red and did not 
pretend to answer, but Romayne caught him by the 
shoulders and pushed him forward, good-naturedly. 

“ Yes, come on youngster! We must make a rush 
for it.” 

The keeper was already closing the gates, but allowed 
our party to squeeze through only just in time, for the 
train began to move as they stepped aboard. The tem- 
porary diversion had given Marjorie a chance to con- 
trol her chagrin, but now it was difficult to keep back 
the angry tears which were close to her eyes. She 


THE GUEST WHO CABIE. 


69 


knew well enough that these excuses were a mere pre- 
tence to avoid an unwelcome invitation, and her hatred 
for the McVeigh family, who had so openly humiliated 
her, grew apace. 

“It’s adding insult to injury to send that lout of a 
boy ! ” she whispered bitterly to her husband, but he 
answered in his easy way, “Oli, give the kid a chance ; 
he isn’t to blame.” 

Phyllis, however, had seen that her sister would have 
none of the unbidden guest, so quickly set aside her 
own preference for a quiet chat with Anson, and beck- 
oned him to the vacant seat opposite their own. 

“ Say,” he broke out as he dropped into it, his tones 
unmodulated and unafraid, “I guess I’ve sort o’ put my 
foot in it, haven’t I? I thought if ’twas a picnic, like 
they said at home, there’d be kids along, but you seem 
all paired off, same as a theatre party. Anyhow, I’ve 
got some nice things to eat in here,” tapping the basket 
in the aisle with one tan toe, and showing a dimple that 
was really attractive, as he smiled. 

“ That’s comforting ! ” observed Anson, as the two 
so neatly paired off laughed confusedly together. 

“ You must keep near us, then,” added Phyllis, to 
hide her blushes, “ for I’m not so sure about mine.” 

Terry gave her an odd look out of his small sharp 
eyes. “Oh, you’re fixed,” he cried consolingly. “I’ve 
got enough for three, easy. Ma isn’t stingy of her 
grub, if the girls are of their company. She always 
does the square thing there,'" 

Phyllis moved uneasily, and glanced around at Mar- 
jorie, who sat gazing sulkily from the window, a seat 
or two behind. Had she heard ? How thoroughly this 


70 


BUBBLES. 


boy understood the situation, and how galling it all 
was ! How could her sister place herself where such 
things could occur? For a moment she was as bitter 
as Marjorie, for it was intolerable to her that Anson 
Kingsley, whom she so thoroughly respected, should 
detect them in a bit of snobbishness, now apparent to 
the whole party. 

Anson read her speaking face more fully than she 
knew, and answered the youth somewhat shortly, 

“ They certainly will be the only losers this time, for 
we have an ideal day before us, and one or two more 
or less on such an occasion makes little real difference. 
Of course,” politely, “ we miss your sisters and their 
friends, but we shall try to have a good time, notwith- 
standing.” 

Terence had sense enough to know he was snubbed, 
and subsided for a minute, nor did he like this young 
man the less for taking him down a bit. 

“ He’s doing the champion act for her,” he told him- 
self in his young American keenness, “ and it’s all right 
if he’s her beau. I’d do it myself, I s’pose. And to 
tell the truth the girls were geese not to come, for it’s 
a nicer looking crowd than they’re used to training 
with, to my notion. I don’t believe this Mr. Kingsley 
ever would get too full of champagne, like that dude 
of a Fitzhugh Flo is so gone on, and then go around 
spilling ice cream on the girl’s dresses ’cause he couldn’t 
hold the dishes straight. No sir, he looks like a man'' 


CHAPTER VII. 


TERRY. 

After all, the day was a great success. Even Mar- 
jorie, when time had soothed her wounds, was obliged 
to acknowledge as much amid the universal enjoyment, 
and let the sting of her snub fade out among these 
merry friends and delightful surroundings. But she 
did not unbend to Terry, and he wisely let her alone, 
attaching himself to the gentlemen or, when left with 
the ladies, keeping in the warm shelter of Phyllis’ 
smile. 

He told himself presently that she was a “ neat sort 
of a girl,” and when she somewhat reluctantly con- 
sented to let him row her across the lake to a shaded 
cove, in search of lilies, he grew decidedly confidential 
and friendly. 

“Say, I like your style,” he observed gracefully, 
leaning on his dripping oars and squinting across at 
her, in the stern, under the glaring light of mid-after- 
noon, “ not that you’re so downright good looking, you 
know, only you look good, and that, come to think of 
it, is an entirely different proposition, isn’t it ? Most 
girls are all feathers and fallals, don’t you know, and 
they never look at a chap till he’s old enough to have a 
mustache, ’cept to send him off on errands, and such. 
Now, you needn’t think I don’t know that I’ve been 
71 


72 


BUBBLES. 


sort of an extry bundle to lug along to-day ; I’m not a 
fool if I do look it, but you’ve treated me white, and 
never acted once as if I was in the way of your fellow 
a little bit, and I appreciate it — I do ! ” after which he 
resumed his rowing, and with a by no means “ ’varsity 
stroke,” sent the small punt splashing on her way. 

Phyllis laughed lazily under her umbrella, and only 
deigned, 

“ Thank you, Terry, but if you mean Mr. Kingsley 
by my ‘fellow’ you mistake. He is my brother’s 
friend.” 

Terry nodded sagely and splashed away. 

“I know all that line of argument,” he remarked 
oracularly, “girls are expected to lie about such things.” 
Then after a pause, “But what is it you do, an^^how, 
Miss Dunlap ? ” 

“ Do ? ” asked Phyllis puzzled. 

“ Yes, do for your living, you know. Kit was talk- 
ing about you folks — the set that’s here to-day, I s’pose 
— and she said girls that' had to do things were so 
‘shoppy.’ They couldn’t talk about anything else. 
Now, I’d bet a cooky there isn’t a single shop girl in 
this crowd.” 

Phyllis’ face glowed with something besides the heat. 

“ I understand,” she said with dignity. “ I do deco- 
rative work for the Woman’s Exchange, and these 
other young ladies are teachers. I wonder,” in a mus- 
ing tone, “ if we do make ourselves tiresome with our 
plans and enthusiasms to these more fortunate butter- 
flies of fashion ? ” 

“ Is that Kit ? Butterfly ! She’s more like a wasp. 
And goodness ! I’d as soon hear about schools and those 


TERRY. 


73 


art things as about clothes and beaux all the time. 
Why don’t girls ever talk about something worth 
while? Did you ever go frog-spearing, Miss Dunlap ? 
Now, there’s sport ! ” and he launched into an animated 
description, only interrupted by an occasional lunge 
after some great golden-hearted lily, at each of which 
Phyllis held her breath in horror, expecting to see him 
go head foremost to the depths of the lake. 

Perhaps this made her enjoy their waxen splendor all 
the more, however. It is natural to prize most that 
which comes to us through peril. As she buried her 
face in their fragrant cups with an abandonment to the 
sense that was childlike in its sincerity, Terry was 
moved to speak again. 

“ You like ’em, don’t you ? Makes a fellow glad he 
brought you along. It’s different with Flo’s set of 
girls. The minute they are left alone — with just me 
around, you know — they get stupid and gapy, and don’t 
seem to have an idea left. But the minute the boys 
get back again, bless me ! what a difference. They be- 
gin to snap up their eyes, and pull out their sleeves, 
and jigger up their curls, and simper and go on, till it 
makes a body sick. The queer thing is that when a 
chap’s growed up he don’t seem to see these things like 
he does when he’s a kid. I wonder, now, if I’ll be so 
fooled by ’em when I’m a man ? ” 

“ Of course,” laughed Phyllis. “ You will be like 
all the rest. And see here, Terry, there’s one thing 
about it. If you’re not ‘fooled,’ as you call it, I sha’n’t 
like you one bit, and I’ll tell you why. That some- 
thing which makes men seem blind to the follies of 
women is what we call chivalry, and admire in the 


74 


BUBBLES. 


strong, brave knights of history. It means simply that 
he, in his greater strength, will not let himself be an- 
noyed by the woman’s weakness, nor take advantage of 
it, and this restraint, this consideration, this delicacy, 
is what makes him into the gentleman.” 

“I see,” said Terry bluntly, staring hard at her. 
“ But,” whiningly, “ it’s such awful fun to guy ’em ! ” 

“It’s boyish fun,” declared Phyllis with decision. 
“It shows one’s youth very plainly. Men conquer such 
things.” 

The boy sighed. He longed to be a man, but it cer- 
tainly meant deprivations. He appeared thoughtful as 
he steered the old boat homeward, and said little more, 
but assisted Phyllis in landing with a resolved air that 
secretly amused her. She retained the rough brown 
paw he had held out, and closed her slender fingers 
around it, as she said in a voice which would have 
thrilled Anson Kingsley, and was not lost on the boy, 

“ Terr}^ I think we must be friends. You shall 
come and see my brother George and myself whenever 
you can, and we will talk again.” 

“ All right ! ” was the brisk response, and Terry 
turned to beach the boat, but though apparently un- 
demonstrative he was thinking hard and to the pur- 
pose. 

Phyllis had in but a delicate touch, or two, supplied 
what a too artificial home training had never yet im- 
parted — the budding instincts of the man. He who re- 
belled with all his heart at the many “ Don’ts ” of home 
conventionalities, when company was present, now felt 
the stirring of strong chivalric desires. He was put 
upon honor, and the first-fruit of the new sensation 


TERRY. 


75 


was such as to surprise even Phyllis herself. She had 
gathered up a part of the lilies and gone up the slop- 
ing green bank, calling to him to bring the rest. 

He carefully gathered them into a great bunch of 
lustrous white and yellow, lettiiig the long stems trail 
gracefully downward, and hastened directly to Mar- 
jorie, whom he had hitherto ignored as completely as 
she him. She was on a carriage rug, leaning listlessly 
against a tree, weary and discontented in the midst of 
a group who did not need her for their enjoyment, 
when he came up with a certain eager shyness that 
became him. 

“I brought you these lilies, Mrs. Matteson,’’ he said, 
a wave of color surging into his brown cheeks, “ and I 
want you to know I’ve had the best kind of a time, 
and — and I’m much obliged to you. I shall tell the 
girls what they missed by their laziness.” 

Marjorie looked up in astonishment. She had 
scarcely noticed the youth before, but something in his 
face and manner appealed to her now. 

“ Why, thank you ! ” she cried, taking the blossoms 
from him with an air of pleasure. “ And I’m glad you 
have enjoyed yourself, Terry. How lovely these are ! ” 
sniffing their fragrance eagerly. “ By the way,” laugh- 
ing a little, and lowering her voice to a whisper, “aren’t 
you hungry again by this time ? It always makes me 
famished to row. If you are, you’ll find the basket of 
sandwiches hanging on an oak tree, just over that 
knoll. Suppose you help yourself and pass it around 
once more.” 

Terry smiled, well pleased, and bounded away to 
execute the commission, thinking. 


76 


BUBBLES. 


“ She isn’t so bad after all, when you get at her. But 
she can’t hold a candle to her sister, though! ” 

Yet the McVeighs would have been ill pleased had 
they known what a hold those “pushing Dunlap girls ” 
were gaining upon their son and heir — and through no 
toadyism either. From that day he became a regular 
visitor at their homes, and fraternized with the whole 
family, though he made no secret of his preference for 
Phyllis. His feeling for sickly George was hardly 
more than amiable toleration. He thought him “ no 
end of a Molly Coddle,” who cared more for his books 
and ailments than for stick-knife, or tennis, while he 
soon decided that Jean was a girl he did not care to 
tackle without gloves. 

She apparently cared not a rap for his teasing, but 
had a way of watching him silently with her great eyes 
for the time being, and then, wdien he had forgotten 
her, springing some embarrassing question, or comment, 
upon him which left him disconcerted and speechless. 
His maimer was to play with baby, look at Jean, listen 
to George, and talk to Phyllis. One would have 
thought there was little exciting in this, yet he contin* 
ued to come after the novelty had worn off, though he 
had to submit to teasing and fault-finding at home. 
Still, his going was not absolutely forbidden. They 
felt it bound them to nothing. They could still treat 
the lower-class family exactly as they chose, notwith- 
standing ; Marjorie had made this plain. Yes, know- 
ing she could only resent their rudeness by giving them 
up entirely, the weak girl had not courage for this, and 
the only alternative was to swallow their insults good- 
naturedly. They were a stepping-stone, and, as such, 


TERRY. 


77 


she must retain at least a speaking acquaintance. 
Stepping stones are sometimes treacherous things and 
give one a bad fall, but one cannot discard them on 
that account. As a means of reaching higher ground 
they must be made the best of. That this higher ground 
may prove sterile and unbeautiful makes no difference 
with the ambitious soul. The instinct to climb, to be 
above the crowd, to look over the heads of former 
friends, lures one over the rockiest and most precipi- 
tous of causeways. 

Marjorie bolted her chagrin without a wry face, and 
made another call on the McVeighs and their guests, 
for which occasion she once more borrowed the Cran- 
dall parasol (to that lady’s ineffable disgust) also her 
mother’s lace wrap and Phyllis’ one new pair of gloves. 
Arrived there, she smiled upon them all, and actually 
relieved them of any necessity for apologies by her 
complete acceptance of the situation, and was as ami- 
able, radiant, and talkative as if she had never felt a 
pang on their account. 

“ Well, I never ! ” cried Kate and Florence together, 
turning to their guests as the door closed upon her, 
while Phyllis, who returned from an errand out just in 
time to find Marjorie departed with her latest hard- 
won purchase, stood still a moment and grew a trifle 
pale, as she murmured, 

“ I never, never could /” 


CHAPTER VIIL 


MABEL OLNEY’S HEART. 

One morning, some months later, Mabel Olney was 
writing letters at the desk in a charming little oriel 
window of her own large chamber when, after an an- 
nouncing tap, Rachel opened the door to thrust in a 
smiling face. “ Some one to see you downstairs, Miss 
Mabel,” she said in a mysterious tone. “ Can you come 
right down ? ” 

Mabel looked up with a start, and paled a trifle. 
Then, as if half vexed at her own nervousness, asked 
abruptly, “ But who is it — man, or woman ? I don’t like 
surprises.” 

There was no answer, except a vanishing chuckle 
down the rear entry, and half annoyed, half amused, 
Mabel rose, washed an ink stain from her finger, fresh- 
ened up her hair a bit, and followed. She had barely 
stepped foot on the hall floor when some one caught 
her about the waist — still as trim as a girl’s — and gave 
her a hearty kiss. She extricated herself instantly, and 
turned wide eyes upon the ruffian. 

“ Romayne ! ” she cried, blushingly. “ You blessed old 
bear! What a grip you have in those long arms. 
Have you seen mother? Come into the library by the 
fire. Is Marjorie with you ? ” 

“No,” he said laughing heartily. “How pretty you 
look, auntie ! ” 


78 


MABEL OLNEY'8 HEART. 


79 


He liked to see his comely relative so excited and 
eager ; he thrilled to her fondness with all a son’s and 
brother’s affection. His dear Aunt Mabel ! He could 
always count upon her. She was also fond and glad, 
yet why, as she led the w^ay to the large and pleasant 
library, did a pang of disappointment and of fearsome 
expectation contract her heart? Once, her welcome 
would have lacked this doubtful element. It would 
have been purely hearty and happy. Now her second 
thought, after the first glad surprise, seemed always to 
spring up and confront her with the suspicious hiss, 
“ But what has he come for ? ” 

It shamed her, but she could not help it. Romayne’s 
visits meant just one thing of late, more money for him, 
more perplexity and pinching for her. She put down 
the pang and the question with prompt decision, but 
the vague sick sensation remained. She knew some- 
thing unpleasant was waiting behind Romayne’s easy 
talk and laughter, and looked enviously at her mother, 
who was so absolutely glad and amused, longing for 
her ignorant enjoyment in his coming. Was this vul- 
gar shadow always to becloud her welcome ? 

“I only ran down for the day,” he was saying, “to 
tell you my good news ” — Mabel’s heart leaped with 
hope — “ and ask your congratulations. I am going into 
business for myself.” 

“You are? How is that? Where do you get ” 

Mabel checked herself quickly, glad her impulsive 
desire to know whence the means had come was lost in 
a question of her mother’s. He answered the latter. 

“ No, not alone. I’m going in with Archer Price, 
that young man I’ve told you about who works in the 


80 


BUBBLES, 


next department to mine. We shall start a collecting 
and advertising agency ; there is a heap of profit in it, 
and very little capital required. He has a cousin that’s 
made his pile in twelve years. We’re to place all the 
Gershom and Twiss ads. and we’ve the good will of sev- 
eral other big firms promised. You see, it can’t be a 
failure because we don’t invest anything to speak of. 
Just a few hundreds to fit up an office, hang out our 
shingle, and — there you are ! ” 

Mabel felt herself slowly congealing, and roused 
with an effort, to ask, 

“ What sort of a business man is Mr. Archer Price ? 
Do you know anything of his abilities ? ” 

“ To be sure, and he is all right. Everybody likes 
him, and he keeps clear up to date ; knows all about 
golf, you know, and has the costumes down pat. Oh, 
he’ll make a hustler ! ” 

“ Possibly,” suggested his aunt drily, “ he may need 
other qualifications for business than a close acquaint- 
ance with golf and the latest styles.” 

Romayne laughed good-naturedly. 

“ Of course, and he has them, auntie. Don’t you 
worry ! I only mention those things because it makes 
such a difference in a man’s standing whether he is up 
to date, or a back number.” 

“ Does it in business f ” asked Mabel incredulously. 

“ Well, I guess so ! Why, all those rich club fellows 
know Price, and hobnob with him at the tournaments, 
and things. We’ll probably do a lot of business for 
them, don’t you see ? ” 

Mabel nodded, only half convinced, and he went on. 

“ You women get your notions of business from these 


MABEL OLNEY’S HEART. 


81 


old moss-backs around here, and such specimens ! ” He 
threw his head back and laughed heartily. “ I must 
tell you about Giddings, gammer, Giddings, the heir, 
that sickly bilious-looking inheritor of the Giddings 
and Hathaway millions, who resembles a country clod- 
hopper. Well, he came up to the city, a few months 
ago, and opened an office to look after his possessions 
and to see something of life. He came to me and 
wanted some introductions, so I did the handsome 
thing, took him to the clubhouse for dinner, and 
showed him around regardless, thinking of course it 
would all come back in time. It was a trial, too, for he 
is about as poor an apology for a man, in appearance, as 
I ever saw. But I whispered to the boys that he was 
the Giddings, and they took him right up, of course. 
What if a man is a fool when he has from twenty to 
fifty millions back of him? We showed him the lions 
and made much of him for a week, and then some of 
the boys began to kick. They said it was time he put 
up occasionally. As we finished up one evening. Price 
said in an eas}^ sort of way, ‘ See here, we must give 
Giddings a chance now. Suppose we meet in a private 
room next time, and let him do the catering. We shall 
expect something fine, Giddings ! ’ He gave a sickly 
smile, but didn’t object, and we met as agreed. Well, 
what do you think that multi-millionaire had provided? 
He brought a paper bag filled with fruit, the larger 
part of which was so decayed we couldn’t eat it. There 
were all kinds, and each worse than the other. And, 
come to find out, he had been cribbing from tlie hotel 
table each day in anticipation of this spread, and this 
was the result ! ” 


6 


82 


BUBBLES, 


“ Oh Romayne, it can’t be ! ” cried Mrs. Olney. 

“ True as preaching, gammer, every word of it. Now, 
Aunt Mabel, I suppose you would like to have me imi- 
tate Ned Giddings, wouldn’t you ? ” 

She colored a trifle, feeling he had read a certain re- 
luctance in her own soul which she had been trying to 
overcome. 

“ I think there might be a happy medium,” she said 
briefly, and soon went out, leaving her mother to listen 
to his gold hued visions and lively stories, while she, 
condemning herself for another stingy property holder, 
hastened to Rachel to help plan some of the boy’s favor- 
ite dishes for dinner. 

She knew he would seek her alone soon, and he did. 
She knew he would ask for all the money she could 
possibly raise, and he did. She felt torn between the 
feeling that she ought to refuse, and the other that he 
should think her mean and selfish, but was aware that 
she should doubtless yield in the end, and she was 
right. There was a small legacy which had lately come 
to her through the death of a distant relative, a few 
hundreds lying in the bank awaiting investment. She 
had been considering a plan which had long lain next 
her heart, that of starting a circulating library in the 
village, believing that, could a nucleus be formed, it 
would soon become a public institution supported by 
taxation. It was greatly needed, she felt, and with her 
unexpected legacy she had hoped to hire a suitable 
building, buy what books she could, and thus form the 
nucleus. 

She had tried to interest others in the scheme, hint- 
ing at her own intentions, and therefore felt partially 


3IABEL OLNEY’S HEART. 


83 


committed. It would be not only a bitter disappoint- 
ment, but a mortification as well. Yet all the time she 
talked with Rachel about oyster patties, and sponge 
pudding with raspberry sauce, her undercurrent mus- 
ing ran its course. 

“ I must give it all up ; it is the only way. I refused 
before when it was a matter of thousands, and even 
mother thought me hard to see it was not a good in- 
vestment for us, as well as Romayne. This time I will 
have to give up, and do it, too, without bothering her. 
Such things trouble her more and more daily. After 
all, it is only myself who will suffer — only, how can I 
explain about that library ? When the committee meet, 
expecting my offer of a starting fund, what can I say ? 
Oh ! I can hear that ignorant Mrs. Ritter, who has op- 
posed it all along, chuckling to herself and muttering 
with her sniff, ‘ Talk’s cheap, you know ! ’ ” 

Romayne went back jubilant, with his aunt’s endorsed 
draft in his pocket, and that aunt, after kissing him 
tenderly and sending her love to Marjorie, as well as a 
valise filled with dainties, crept upstairs and cried 
heartily for one luxurious hour, then resolutely bathed 
her eyes, called up her placid smile, and came down to 
her mother, with a latent dread in her heart. 

“ I was just wondering where you were, Mabel,” said 
that lady querulously. “ It seems so lonesome, always, 
after Romayne goes. What splendid spirits he has ! 
And I do think he grows handsomer every day, don’t 
you ? ” 

Mabel had thought she discerned a coarsening process 
going on in him which was unpleasant to her, but she 
only answered. 


84 


BUBBLES, 


“ Does he ? He was always good looking. I did not 
finish my letters this morning; he came while I was in 
the midst of them. Are you warm enough? The fire 
seems down, and it is growing colder fast.” 

Mabel bent over the grate a moment, while her 
mother continued sigliingly, 

“ It’s dull with just women in the house, especially 
when they make no effort to be amusing. Mabel, I 
hope you are not growing old before your time. You 
certainly seem less bright and lively of late. You ought 
to go out more, or have company at home.” 

“And leave you, mother? That is mere fancy. 
Any one would seem quiet after Romayne. He is like 
a steam calliope for noise, with that hearty voice and 
laugh of his. - Do you want me to read to you ? ” 

“ No, let’s talk. You began telling me about the 
house, you thought would do for the new library, when 
Mrs. Stone’s call interrupted us. Begin where you 
left off.” 

Mabel winced. 

“ Oh, it’s what they call the Denny place ; has been 
a boarding-house for a 3^ear, or two, past. I thought it 
was quite large enough for the present, and centrally 
located.” She hurried over these sentences in a 
mechanical fashion, tossing over a pile of late magazines 
as she spoke, then picked one up. 

“Here is a new story b^^ Weyman — don’t you want 
to hear it?” 

“I did want to talk, but you seem disinclined,” 
pathetically. “Yesterday you nearly talked me to 
death over that library, and now you act absolutely 
uninterested. Really, Mabel, I hope you are not 


MABEL OLNEY'8 HEART. 


85 


growing into one of those changeable, uncertain 
women who want a thing dreadfully till they can have 
it, and then cease to care. Such natures are con- 
temptible, and I had supposed unknown in an Olney.” 
Mabel crushed back a hot retort and a surge of angry 
tears. For an instant the room swam before her misty 
gaze ; she felt wounded to the quick. Let us plead, in 
extenuation for Mrs. Olney, that she was physically 
wearied and nervous, and that she could have no con- 
ception of what her daughter was suffering, or she 
would have bitten out her tongue before so tortur- 
ing her. 

Mabel did not answer — she could not. Half startled 
at the prolonged silence, her mother glanced around 
still fretfully, 

“ But read if you prefer, of course. Only don’t say 
again that I take no interest in your schemes, I beg of 
you.” 

Mabel, still mute, selected a magazine and seated 
herself so that her face was in shadow. She was reso- 
lutely steadying her emotions, and her strong will 
presently conquered. When, after a little delay spent 
apparently in making a selection, she began to read, 
her mother noticed no change in her voice except a 
deeper resonance. But the stray thrust had reached 
a vital part, and still bled slowly, drop by drop. 


CHAPTER IX. 


Mabel’s story. 

It is in nature that one such spirit wound is apt to 
set all the old half-forgotten hurts to aching, and there 
was one so deep and wide it could never be quite 
healed, which began to throb anew in Mabel’s breast 
that night. It had been made some years ago, when 
she was barely out of her teens, but it was as fresh to- 
night as ever. During one of the happy summers of 
her girlhood, while her father was yet alive and no 
cares had fallen upon her young shoulders, she had 
met during a lengthened stay at a summer resort a 
young man, who made one of a camping party near the 
hotel. 

They had been thrown together daily amid the un- 
conventionalities of boating, croquet, the newer game 
of tennis, and mountain climbing, while the acquaint- 
ance had ripened into friendship. It was continued by 
correspondence during another year or so, while 
Dwight Conyne was in the far west bribing fortune 
with his college attainments in a growing town, and 
each month the interest thus kept alive strengthened 
into warmer sentiment. 

At length young Conyne took a sudden resolution, 
and without warning appeared at Mabel Olney’s door 
as a suitor. He was young, ardent, and thoroughly 
imbued with the western ideas of a prompt seizing of 
86 


MABEL'S STORY. 


87 


the passing opportunity, and the small need for con- 
ventionalities. He took the girl by surprise, and she 
could not conceal her joy and fondness. He easily 
won a confession of love and, exultant over his success, 
sought to clinch it by a promise and performance. 

Would she marry him at once, and return as his 
bride within the week? 

But here he found himself against a wall of eastern 
pride and prejudice, as strong as his western impetus. 
The Olneys were originally New England bred, and 
had never forgotten her decorums in their new home in 
a middle state. They were horrified at the unusual 
proposal ! 

Marry in a week? With no wedding, no trousseau, 
no announcement, even, of an engagement. Was he 
insane? Did he suppose Mabel was an old-world emi- 
grant, to be thus dragged across country at the heels 
of a lover sprung up suddenly “out of the nowhere 
into the here?” Had he no sense of decency? 

So cried all the Olneys in concert, ranging from the 
strident bass of Mabel’s lordly father, up through the 
octave of sisters, cousins and aunts, to Mrs. Olney’s 
pathetic treble, with a result not all harmony. Mabel’s 
heart yearned to follow her lover, and she would have 
liked to close her ears against all the respectable con- 
nection, but it was a bold step to thus defy the Family 
— which always wrote itself with a capital — and she 
was young and trained to obedience. Instead, she 
stood silently by and listened, saying little for herself, 
or her lover. 

As for him, this “ senseless opposition,” as he called 
it, made Dwight Conyne determined and ugly. He 


88 


BUBBLES. 


could not see that underneath the matter lay a real 
love that could not brook the shadow of disrespect to 
the young girl so tenderly cherished, especially as in 
his own heart existed only as deep a love and respect, 
and the strong desire to prove it to her and them. 

From pleadings he resorted to argument, then to a 
sullen immovable stand. 

“Very well,” he said doggedly, “I can be away just 
ten days, and of those five are gone in blab and bluster. 
I offer you, Mabel, my love, a fair home which I shall 
improve in days to come, and the best care and cherish- 
ing I have to bestow, but you must be ready to go with 
me before three daj^s are ended. I have no money to 
waste in the long journey to and fro, and I do not care 
a rap for fine feathers and folderol. I want everything 
legal and proper — you can’t make it too binding to suit 
me — but that is all. I want nothing else but you. We 
are not so benighted that we cannot find gowns out 
there, and you certainly have enough to make the 
journey in. Dearest, will you for this once put aside 
the traditions that bind you, and come with me just as 
you are? I will never be so exacting again.” 

She was looking at him with a luminous gaze. It 
seemed to her, for the minute, that she had always lived 
in a small garden and only gazed out occasional!}^ 
through a gap in the hedge. He was inviting her far 
into the broad prairie, where the high grass waved 
beckoningly, and the wind swept through her hair un- 
checked. It stirred her to a sense of latent pos- 
sibilities of happiness that took her breath away. She 
felt like a naughty runaway baby, all athrob with de- 
light and fear. He still urged his cause. 


MABEUS STORY. 


89 


“ You shall be married here in your father’s parlor,” 
he said, always appealing to that sense of decorum he 
felt sure was all that opposed him, “ and in your pret- 
tiest dress, with all your relatives, to the very last fifth 
cousin, looking on, if you please ; then pack what you 
have in one trunk and come home to me. What use is 
there in anything more ? I tell you, in this age all such 
fuss and flummery are superfluous. It cannot make you 
any more my wife, and it simply means a large expen- 
diture of precious time and money. Be sensible, 
Mabel, and say you will go.” 

“And if I do not, Dwight?” she asked dreamily, 
unable to recall a single argument of the many she had 
heard, as to the necessity of preserving form and cere- 
mony, in order to keep the rites of marriage sacred and 
of import, “ If I cannot consent ? ” 

“ Then I shall go — and stay — alone.” 

His handsome face darkened and set itself in stern 
lines, then turned to meet her wistful gaze, and grew 
tender again. He caught her trembling hands and held 
them firmly. 

“But you will, Mabel? You have let me see that 
you care, and you will not allow a mere prejudice to 
obsolete opinion to drive me from you. It is too ab- 
surd ! ” 

So it was absurd. She felt it like a wave of light 
through all her being. Something in her soul rose to 
meet the ardor in him. The world dropped away, and 
they stood alone in eternity, mated and unafraid. Go 
with him ? To the ends of the world— nay, even into 
the mysterious confines of the next, if God so willed ! 
She smiled deep into his eyes, she bent toward him, 


90 


BUBBLES. 


yielding and sweet. He felt she was his own, and held 
her close to his beating heart that went out to her then 
as never before. He felt all the sacredness of this 
charge he was assuming, he realized all the maiden shy- 
ness and delicacy she was putting aside, because the 
fire of a true passion had purified her from their need. 
In that supreme moment Dwight Conyne was as near 
the heights of manhood as human nature can reach, till 
the Ideal Man is fully revealed in a better state. They 
gave a short time to mute happiness, then a longer 
space to plans, and separated full of confidence and 
hope. 

But Mabel had not reckoned on the strength of the 
opposition. Her father had as obstinate a streak as her 
lover, while Mrs. Olney, as we have seen, had all that 
soft persistence which is like the pushing of the up- 
springing plant against a stone. It must move the ob- 
ject assaulted, as it never ceases, never changes its line, 
and no ordinary life is long enough to tire it out. 

Mabel was amazed at the storm she brought about 
her. Her father refused to allow the “ unseemly dese- 
cration ” to take place in his house ; her mother cried 
herself into illness, after talking Mabel into frenzy, and 
took to her bed and sinking spells ; the relatives came 
and went portentous and solemn, and not one would 
move hand or foot in the matter, except in opposition. 
What could a mere girl do ? 

The minutes slipped into an hour, the hours into a 
day, and the days into three, and the situation remained 
unchanged. When with her lover she felt strong to 
act, and promised all things, when with her family her 
courage melted into frightened submission, and she was 


31ABEV8 STORY. 


91 


powerless. At length the last evening arrived, and she 
had not made a move to begin the necessary prepara- 
tions. If she went with Dwight it must be on the 9.15 
train. At seven o’clock he appeared, ready and de- 
termined, only to be met by Mabel in a house gown, 
red-eyed and disheveled. She was really ill with the 
conflict. 

“ Are you ready ? ” he asked sturdily. “ I have the 
license, and the minister will be here in an hour. Is 
your trunk packed? And surely, my dear, you will 
want to bathe those poor eyes and change that gown. 
Come, child, it is but to be determined. Nobody is go- 
ing to eat you ! Just be a woman, and see how quickly 
everything will give way before 5^011.” 

Then he began to laugh and rally her, but before 
Mabel could collect herself to answer, her father ap- 
peared. He took the offensive and argued loudly. 
Dwight Conyne tried to be respectful and self-possessed, 
but some of the elder man’s thrusts were keen and sharp. 

Why this haste ? It savored strongly of something 
to be concealed. Of course Mr. Conyne’s family and 
record seemed irreproachable to hasty investigation, but 
would it endure close and continued examination? 
And really, if expense was the matter under considera- 
tion, Mr. Olney would if necessary defray the young 
man’s railway charges for future visits, rather than see 
his daughter made the victim of such an unseemly pro- 
posal. It had never been a fashion of the Olneys to 
marry in haste and repent at leisure, and he forbade his 
Mabel to inaugurate the custom. In a word, he was 
icily sarcastic and bitingly cold. 

The young man’s temper finally got the better of him. 


92 


BUBBLES. 


and the scene rapidly degenerated into a disgraceful 
quarrel, in which both forgot their better side. Mabel 
had fled trembling to a window, and stood during the 
noisy dialogue gazing out upon a gloomy, persistent 
drizzle of rain, such as chills the courage, and makes 
any indoor warmth and light seem sweet by contrast. 
She thought of herself going out into the night, fol- 
lowed by her father’s wrath, her mother’s reproaches, 
to begin a life so new and strange that, even were it 
heaven itself, there would be a natural shrinking from 
it. Her teeth began to chatter with a nervous chill, 
and she had to cling to the window-sill to keep from 
falling. Her father’s anger terrified her ; her lover’s 
repulsed her. While thus suspended in the scale of re- 
solve, the one last argument necessary to tip the bal- 
ance completely was thrown in. 

Mrs. Olney, ill in an adjoining room, grew frightened 
at the threatening voices and at last, in nervous des- 
peration, rose from her couch, wrapped her dressing- 
gown about her, and tottered feebly to the connecting 
door. 

Mabel, turning in terror from the window at a louder 
outburst, saw the weak, slender form and white face in 
the aperture, and the sight held her a second while the 
men, with arms taut and fists clinched at their sides, 
flung at each other blazing glances and taunts that 
seared. 

Mrs. Olney tried to speak, but made only a feeble 
gasping sound, then raised one hand and looked into 
her daughter’s eyes. The look was commanding, im- 
ploring, reproachful, despairing. It stamped the blame, 
the disgrace, the w'rong, deep into the consciousness of 


MABEU8 STORY, 


93 


the shrinking girl. For one immeasurable instant she 
stood as if arraigned at the judgment seat. Then, with 
a smothered cry, the mother swayed and fell, uncon- 
scious. 

This brought both men to their senses. Mr. Olney 
hurried to his wife’s assistance. Dwight stood alone, 
the picture of despair, watching the two in their efforts 
to revive her, for Mabel, after that one blinding mo- 
ment, had flung herself forward with the cry “Mother! 
Mother ! ” 

Dwight felt, when he heard it, that all was over, and 
he was right. When, a short time after, his betrothed 
came to him from the invalid’s room to which they had 
borne her at once, he felt it was the end. Mabel was 
the color of ashes, and her eyes seemed dulled o-f their 
lustre, but she was dignified and quiet. 

“You understand,” she said, holding out her hand. 
“ It is good-bye.” 

He did not attempt further remonstrance. He bowed 
over the ice-cold fingers, which lay passive in his throb- 
bing palm, then, unable to speak a word, left the house, 
as he believed, forever. 


CHAPTER X. 


Marjorie’s creed. 

Mrs. Olney was seriously ill for days, and in nurs- 
ing her Mabel was obliged to bar out the despairing 
grief at her heart’s door. But it never left her. It 
was always awaiting the opportunity to enter through 
the veriest crevice. It peered into her waking eyes, 
often even rousing her from slumber with its low call, 
while its wan face was thrust in between herself and 
every happiness that would have come to her. It was 
her shadow. 

Yet, for a long time hope walked beside it, and shed 
some brightness over its gloom. There would be re- 
lenting on Dwight's part. She would hear from him, at 
least, or when time had cooled his anger he might even 
come, once more. She thus lived in alternations of 
hope and despair, for nearly four years, then the final 
blow fell. 

A paper, with the marked announcement of his 
marriage to the daughter of a Judge in the town of his 
adoption, came to her, and the light of hope went out. 
That the light of cheerfulness and good humor did not 
go with it was due to her own strong will, and steady 
reliance upon a stronger. When the first effect of the 
blow was over she rallied her forces and faced the sit- 
uation. 

“ I must not let myself think life is over,” she said 
94 


MARJORIE'S CREED. 


95 


inwardly again and again, until the words left some 
meaning upon her stricken sense, and in time she be- 
came what we have seen her, the stay and comfort of a 
widowed mother, and the friend, sister and support of 
an orphaned nephew. But the wound was unhealed, 
and there were times when that loneliness which every 
grief-stricken soul must know — a loneliness whicli sets 
one entirely apart from even the nearest and dearest in 
a great fog of misery — encompassed her for days, and 
she roused herself out of its misty isolation only with 
an effort that was pain. 

It came upon her oftener, now that the house was so 
quiet and her occupations dwindled to so few, and 
though she battled against it, such scenes as to-night’s 
drove her again into the lonely horror, and left her 
sleepless and despairing. 

Romayne returned to his young wife triumphant, and 
inflated with bubble hopes. 

“I tell you, Marjie, it’s nonsense for a man to stand 
behind a counter all his life. Let him once have the 
courage to make a break, and circumstances will shape 
themselves to his will. You will have a chance to show 
the McVeighs a thing or two yet, insolent things ! ” 

III fact, he moaned like Cmsar that there were no 
more worlds to conquer, so long as his aunt’s money 
burned in his pocket. That his victory over her was 
one requiring little strategy made no difference. Ho 
had won, and that was enough. 

Marjorie was not slow to follow his lead. In their 
new “ position ” a five-room flat was scarcelj^ the thing, 
and Phyllis was called upon to assist in the house 
hunting that must follow. 


.96 


BUBBLES. 


“You are not really going to move?” she cried in 
dismay, as slie answered the summons in person, 
“What for?” 

“I wonder you can ask, Phjd, when you see how 
cramped we are. Why, since the piano came it is 
actually impossible to entertain more than a half 
dozen people at a time, and then we are packed like 
sardines in a box.” 

The younger sister laughed a little, then a flush 
crept into her cheeks. 

“I wish you weren’t going quite so soon. This 
would be just the thing, but I’m afraid it will be oc- 
cupied before ” 

“What are you maundering about, Phyllis? Oc- 
cupied before what ? ” 

Marjorie turned sharply from the glass where she 
was adjusting an elaborate hat in preparation for the 
house hunting she was bent upon, to stare at her sister. 
Phyllis only blushed the redder. 

“ For — us,” she laughed, “ Anson and me. There, 
it’s out ! Yes, we are going to need a home of our 
own, Marjie dear, in about three months from now, we 
think. Hadn’t you better keep possession until then?” 

“ Why, Phyl, is it so ? When did you settle it ? ” 

Phyllis laughed blithely. 

“Dear me! We didn’t. It settled itself. Only his 
mother is going west to make her favorite niece a long 
visit, and he is so tired of boarding. So vve thought it 
ought to be before long, so that I could take care of him.” 

“ Phyl, has he anytliing at all ? ” 

“ Anything ? Everything I Strength, courage, man- 
liness, education, hones ” 


MARJORIE^ S CREED. 


97 


“ Oh, you know I don’t mean those. He is a fine 
fellow, I admit, but has he any property ? Ph3d, mind 
what T say — don’t you marry the best of them without 
that. They may talk about love till they are as blind 
as Cupid himself, but it is nothing when compared with 
plenty of means. And you needn’t look so horrified, 
either ! It’s the absolute truth I am giving }mu. If 
Romayne did not have his rich family to fall back upon 
I should hate him ! ” 

She said it quite calmly, but there was a vicious little 
gleam of the beautiful baby-like teeth between her rosy 
lips. Phyllis could not speak for surprise. 

“ No,” Marjorie dropped into a chair, putting off the 
moment of departure that she might continue ruth- 
lessly, “ one cannot love a man who never gives her 
anything; how can she? For instance, only suppose 
we tried to live on Romayne’s salary. After paying 
the rent there would be just forty -six dollars a month 
for everything. Now, what does that mean ? No 
clothes, no maid, no company, gas out at nine to save 
it, never a shopping expedition except to nose around 
the cheapest markets after half spoiled provisions, no 
dressmaker, no theatre — no, nor church either, for I 
wouldn’t go even tliere looking like a guy — ^just plain 
everyday bread and butter and drudgery. Do you 
suppose any man living could make up to me for such 
a life ? And then, take Romayne’s side, if you clioose. 
Where would his cigars come from, and his little treats 
to friends, and his club (it’s one of the cheaper ones 
and he is ashamed of it, but it sounds well) his fresh 
gloves, and carnations, and all the rest ? I tell you, 
Phyllis, poverty has no part in this age ; it is put down 
7 


98 


BUBBLES. 


where it belongs among the low and ignorant, and no 
matter how well educated, or well born you are, if you 
don’t have money you are put down with it.” 

“But surely, self-respecting honorable poverty ” 

“ Bosh, all bosh ! ” Marjorie laughed not too pleas- 
antly, and picked up her muff, a new and handsome 
one. “ Self-respecting honorable nonsense ! There’s 
no such thing. Come, we’ll have to be starting. No, 
it’s either sink with the herd and be nobody, or get 
money somehow and sail along with the upper ten. I 
mean to sail!^^ 

She brought out the words with her head in the air, 
and waited loftily for Phyllis to pass out, while she 
closed the door behind them. Then added in a lower 
tone, “ And that’s why I ask, has Anson anything ? ” 

“ No. What his father left was so little that, as 
soon as his education was finished, he made it all over 
to his mother. It gives her a sufficient income for her 
modest needs. He must make his own way.” She 
hesitated a moment, then added, “ And I cannot feel as 
you do, Marjie. I can be happy with him, even if 
pinched for means. Why, I love him, sister — how could 
I help being glad and proud to share everything fate 
may biing us ? ” 

They were descending the stairs slowly, Marjorie 
now a trifle in advance. She turned and glanced back 
over her shoulder. 

“ Because you have not tried it. I tell you, love will 
go when hardships come. Take my advice, say no, and 
wait for a better chance.” 

“ You don’t know what you are saying ! ” 

“ I know better than you. I have been there I Of 




\ 


MARJORIE'S CREED. 


99 


course it is often hard at home, for father can’t do 
much for you, but you have your living, at least, and 
you have nice lady-like ways of earning your clothing. 
You are young enough to wait and look about you, and 
who knows Avhat may come ? I have done fairly well ; 
you may do better. I can’t see, for my part,” pettishly, 
“ why you don’t make more use of that Terry McVeigh. 
He would do anything for you, and I know, with just a 
hint of what 3^011 want, he would manage to get you in 
there. Then think what chances might come ! They 
don’t like me, so it’s little use my trying, but they 
would treat you well for his sake, and it would be an 
entering wedge. Then ” 

“ Marjorie, hush ! I don’t want anything — anything 
of those people,” cried Phyllis hotly. “ I detest them 
all — except Terry — and they can do nothing for me.” 

“ They can, and for all of us, and 3mu’re a goose not 
to see it! Kate and 'Flo are leaders in one of the best 
sets in the city. If they should take you up, others 
would. All one needs is a start — then it goes itself. 
We are nice looking, well bred, and well dressed ; we’d 
be the fashion if we were once launched and it’s too 
hateful of those girls, when they have known of Ro- 
mayne’s family always, that they won’t be decent! ” 

Her voice was actually tearful, but Ph3dlis’s look did 
not soften. There was a weary line between her eyes, 
and her lips looked tense and firm. 

“ Marjorie,” slie said in a tone of finality, as they 
walked slowly down the street, each too intent to note 
the brilliant snowy scene, “ it’s no use arguing with 
3"ou and I won’t argue — I despise it ! But I can and 
do feel strongly, and in this way. We are just what 


100 


BUBBLES. 


we are, and money is an outside matter, good to have, 
but not indispensable. If we have tlie mind and quali- 
ties that impress others they will not let any lack there 
make a difference ; if we have not, money will only 
help us to a certain extent. I am indifferent to mere 
surface people, like the McVeighs and their set, and I 
should despise myself if I were always hanging upon 
the edge of their society, waiting for a chance to sneak 
in. We have our own friends, nice friends, who are 

educated, refined, and even rich ” 

“ Such as who, for instance ? ” 

“The Burbanks. Everybody respects them.” 

“ Oh, of course ! Stupid, elderly people, with a cen- 
tury-old house that has been closed so long it smells of 
mold. Who cares for fossils ? ” 

“ I’m sure the very best people are glad to go there. 

Great travelers like Stanley, and ” 

“ Who wants travelers ? I like dress and gaiety. Of 
course, when people have been abroad they’re nice to 
meet, but these professional travelers are always talk- 
ing about things you can’t understand, and half the 
time they get themselves up in the most outlandish 
way — don’t know morning from evening dress. Don’t 
you remember that old frump of a historian we met — 
what’s his name ? Why, one of his shoes was untied 
all the evening, and the string flapped around his ankle 
whenever he moved, but he never noticed it.” 

“ Marjorie Dunlap, you make me ashamed for you ! 
That great statesman and scholar ! A man whose 
shoe’s latchet you are not wortliy to unloose.” 

“Well, they evidently needed no help in that direc- 
tion,” laughing teasingly, “I ached to tell him to tie 


MARJORIE'S CREED. 


101 


them up, though, the untid}^ creature I Now really, 
you just toady to these geniuses, Phyllis. How can 
you?’’ 

The words, cutting athwart some similar thought of 
her own, brought the ready laughter to the girl’s lips, 
and the impending quarrel was averted. 

“ Yes, I am a toady — in that way ” — she returned 
good-naturedly, “ I don’t deny it. But ” 

Then she stopped for she saw Marjorie was bridling, 
and her swift glance forward noted Miss McVeigh and 
a young lady, whose face was known to her as that of 
Miss Honor Carson, one born to the highest fortune of 
this world, whose fair presence was eagerly sought by 
every set in the city, though not often with complete 
success. 

Phyllis drew herself up a trifle, prepared to go by 
unseeing, when to her surprise Miss McVeigh bowed 
with some graciousness, while Miss Carson stopped 
short and said with a bright smile, 

“ Miss Dunlap, I believe ? ” 

Phyllis responded surprisedly, still with a distant 
manner, then feeling a suggestive pinch from Marjorie, 
added almost curtly, “ And my sister, Mrs. Matteson.” 

“I am glad to meet you both,” bowing to the latter 
with a charming mixture of dignity and cordiality, “ I 
have been hearing a good deal about Miss Dunlap 
lately” — as she spoke the dimples began playing in her 
smooth cheeks — “ and have determined to make her 
acquaintance.” 

Phyllis opened her eyes wider. What could this 
mean? And thoroughly enjoying her mystification, 
the young lady laughed out blithely, as she added. 


102 


BUBBLES. 


“We have a mutual friend, I think; her name is 
Sukey Wliite, but that is a misnomer for she is as black 
as coal, and ” 

“ Why, old Sukey ! ” cried Phyllis in amazement. 
“ And do you know her too, Miss Carson ? ” 

“I should rather think so. She was my mother’s 
nurse and mine. Yes, though I blush to say it, and my 

grandfather’s slave. We ” 

Phyllis broke in again excitedly, 

“ And you are of the Stannard family, then — ‘ ole 
Massa Gunnel’s chillun?”’ 

“And grandchildren, yes. It’s on my mother’s side, 
you see,” laughing again with a little catchy breath 
that was very winning and sweet. “ I’m sure you know 
us all, and I want to thank you now for being so good 
to the dear old creature. She cannot praise you enough 
— her ‘Miss Phyll}",’ as she calls you — and it was more 
than kind of you to teach her, and help her to pass the 
long, lonely hours. She is to be with us again now, 
and her delight is reallj^ pathetic, poor old dear ! ” 
Marjorie and Miss McVeigh had watched the scene 
in wonder, neither attempting a word, till now Marjorie 
said in her sweetest tone, 

“Another of my sister’s proteg(^es? I am alwa3^s 
coming upon them at odd moments, but this one is new 
to me. I supposed Master Terence, your bright young 
brother. Miss McVeigh, had held sole place in her af- 
fections too long to be routed.” 

“Even by a negro woman?” returned Terr5^’s sweet 
sister with a snapdragon inflection. “ He ought to feel 
honored by such a preference, I’m sure,” and she turned 
her shoulder upon Marjorie as she added in a honeyed 


BIABJOBIE'S CBEED. 


103 


tone, the more noticeable by contrast, “ Come, Honor 
dear, we’re obstructing the sidewalk. I’m afraid some 
blue-coat will be ordering us to move on, yet. You 
will have to discuss old Sukey with Miss Dunlap 
later on.” 

“ I sincerely hope I may ! ” with a warm expressive 
look. “Sukey’s friends surely must be mine. An 
revoir then,” and she followed her companion, who had 
already walked along a pace or two. 

“ Why, Phyl, it was Miss Carson — the Miss Carson ! ” 
whispered Marjorie excitedly. “ Her picture was in 
last month’s Murrey among the noted southern beau- 
ties, you know. She has inherited nobody knows how 
many fortunes, but they say she is eccentric and chari- 
table. Did you notice how plainly she was dressed ? 
But how did you happen to light on her old nurse? ” 

“ Oh, ’twas a mere happen-so,” laughed the girl some- 
what excitedly. “ I’ll tell you about it — but first, Mar- 
jie, how can you put up with that Kate McVeigh? She 
is simply insufferable ! ” 

Mrs. Matteson colored. 

“I felt like killing her!” she said abruptly. “But 
even for that pleasure one doesn’t care to kill one’s 
self.” 

“ I don’t know ; I should prefer it to being wiped out 
by such determined snubbing. Ugh ! she makes me 
tingle. I dread to feel this way toward any living 
thing — even a reptile. It is too like actual hatred.” 

“ Decidedly like it in my case,” acknowledged Mar- 
jorie calmly. “ I could stand by and see her — slowly — 
tortured! ” 

She ground out the words between her teeth with a 


104 


B UBBLES. 


leisurely enjoyment of them, as if merely emitting the 
suggestive sound was a pleasure difficult to forego. 
Phyllis looked askance at her. 

“ Hush ! We are both geese, and don’t mean a word 
of it. I will tell you about Sukey, but we must be near 
the house we were going to look at. Let’s see, it was 
number 1611 and this is 1607 — yes, here we are. Really 
a neat, respectable little place. Wait, now, till we 
come out, then I’ll tell the story. It has turned out 
more romantically than I ever dreamed it could.” 


CHAPTER XI. 


AN ODD PARTNERSHIP. 

The story of Sukey White was a simple one. It 
chanced, one day, that as Phyllis went into the Wo- 
man’s Exchange with some fancy articles she had pre- 
pared for sale, she noticed a lady at the counter, talking 
earnestly with the person in charge, and could not help 
overhearing her remarks. She was holding out a piece 
of rich, but worn, point lace, and was saying, 

“ If I could only find a good lace-mender, such as 
those in Paris for instance, but somehow our modern 
American women do not take to anything so slow and 
painstaking as fine darning. I have an excellent laun- 
dress, but she can’t mend at all.” 

Phyllis felt interested. She had made something of 
an art out of this homely, old-fashioned sort of needle- 
work, having spent hours on the baby’s dainty slips 
and her mother’s curtains and table linen, at home. A 
convent-bred Irish woman, grateful for some service, 
had taught her some of the more intricate stitches, in 
which the mesh of lace and the weave of stockinet are 
reproduced, and she had a reputation among her friends 
of being an expert in the craft. She felt she might 
possibly suit this lady, had she the opportunity, and 
obeying one of her impulses, she stepped forward and 
said, 

“ Excuse me, but I could not help hearing, and as I 
105 


106 


B UBBLES. 


have served quite an apprenticeship at fine darning I 
might assist you. I contribute work here.” 

The lady turned and gave her a quick, keen glance, 
while her bent brows relaxed. 

“ Can you mend lace — such lace as this ? ” holding it 
out. Phyllis examined it a moment. 

“ How beautiful ! ” she cried with enthusiasm, for she 
was a bit of a connoisseur in laces, so far as she had 
been given opportunity for observation. “ It is the real 
point de Venise ! No wonder you dread to see a break 
in it.” 

“All! you recognize it then? There are so few who 
care for such things here,” and, stepping closer, the two 
were soon in animated discourse such as can only hap- 
pen when two meet, charged to the brim with informa- 
tion upon some hobby which one has long ridden, and 
the other longs to mount. When Phyllis finally said, 
“ I should like to try my hand on this, if you could 
trust me,” the stranger answered quickly, 

“ Why not? You understand what lace is.” 

“And you needn’t pay me,” continued the girl, “I 
shall be glad of the practice, only if I succeed to suit 
you and desire other work of the kind I shall ask for a 
recommend.” 

“That is fair, certainly. But we’ll discuss the pay 
later,” returned the other quickly. “When shall I 
send for it ? ” 

“ I will bring it to you,” said Phyllis, and took down 
her address at once, saying in return, “ The people here 
all know me and my address ; I am Miss Dunlap.” 

When she returned the lace, its owner, who proved 
to be a Mrs. Erlacken, the wife of a wealthy manufac* 


AN ODD PARTNERSHIP. 


107 




tnrer, freely expressed her satisfaction with the dainty 
work and insisted upon paying for it. But Phyllis was 
firm. 

“No,” she said, “I ask only your good word, for I 
feel you have opened up a new avenue of employment 
for me, and I am only anxious for patrons. I have tried 
the fine arts, and I know in my heart that I lack the 
originality to be first-class there, but I do think I 
might climb to a dizzier altitude with this darning, for 
it only requires infinite patience and painstaking, and I 
intend to cultivate those to perfection.” 

She laughed in her girlish way, and Mrs. Erlacken 
joined her. 

“How ambitious you are! Well, if I can give you 
a boost up the ladder of fame as a lace darner I stand 
ready to do it, even if I must acknowledge those now 
invisible rents in this precious point — do you appreciate 
what a sacrifice you ask? ” 

“ Ambition, I have heard, always tramples upon 
something, or somebody. I hope I shall not have to 
use you too cruelly ! ” laughed Phyllis, blushing a little 
at her own temerity in thus exchanging badinage with 
this grand lady. But the latter seemed to like it. She 
kept the girl, on one pretence or another, for an hour 
or more, taking pains to show her the small but pre- 
cious collection of laces she had made ; a favor, had 
Phyllis but known, vouchsafed to very few\ For Mrs. 
Erlacken was choice of her treasures, and it vexed her 
to have an unappreciative eye even look upon them. 
Finally Phyllis remembered to ask a business ques- 
tion. 

“You spoke of a lace laundress, Mrs. Erlacken — if I 


108 


BUBBLES. 


could find her she miglit be able to furnish me with 
plenty of this work, perhaps ? ” 

“Oh, Sukey? True enough. But she is a colored 
woman, once the slave of old friends of mine. She has 
always remained with the family since she became free, 
until they went abroad a 3^ear or two since, when they 
established her comfortably here as a fine laundress, 
securing her work from their circle of friends. You 
may not care ” — she finished the sentence with an up- 
ward inquiring glance. 

“ And why not ? ” returned Phyllis quickly, with a 
slight flush; “Just because she has a dark skin, should 
I refuse her good offices? Not at all! Indeed, we 
may be able to help each other before I am done with 
her.” 

“I like 3^our spirit, Miss Dunlap. You will find 
Suke3^ a character worth studying, and I’m certain she 
would have many opportunities for throwing such work 
in your way.” 

The address was given, a few more pleasant last 
words exchanged, and Phyllis left, feeling she had made 
a new friend as well as patron. She sought out the 
laundress next day, and found her in a large, neat apart- 
ment building, centrally located, and on one of the 
lower floors. At her knock, the door, decorated with 
its modest green placard 

“ Mrs. Sukey White, 

Fine Laundress.” 

was opened to her by a corpulent negress of mature 
age and intensely black skin, who greeted her with an 


AN ODD PARTNERSHIP. 


109 


air of quiet dignity, and in a soft liquid voice bade her 
enter and be seated. 

“ Is this Mrs. White ? ” asked Phyllis with lier pleas- 
ant smile, stepping into the small room,, which at once 
impressed her as brilliantly colored, and of steamy 
warmth. 

“ Yes miss, I’se Sukey White,” replied the woman, 
showing her splendid ivories in a wide smile. “ Folkses 
mos’ly leabs off de IMrs. and de White so it comes to 
jes’ plain Sukey in de ehd. An’ what can I do fer you 
to-day?” 

“ I will tell you,” said Phyllis sinking into a red- 
cushioned rocker and nodding toward another, “ if we 
can sit down comfortably, for I am tired after my long 
walk.” 

The other nodded comprehendingly. 

“Thank you, missus; Pse tired too, I reckon,” and 
she seated herself opposite, and turned her great soft 
eyes interestedly upon her visitor. 

As Phyllis unfolded her partnership plan, the woman 
grew more attentive, leaning forward with both hands 
upon her knees, while she nodded and chuckled as if 
delighted to ecstasy ; evidently the idea amused her, 
and the instant Phyllis ceased she broke out, 

“ It’s jes’ de peartes’ ijee I ever did hear ! Why, 
chile, dey’s work till you can’t rest. Jes’ ’bout half 
dem fine laces needs a stitch, and de leddies mos’ allers 
axes me can’t I do it, but laws ! my ole fingers is too 
stiff an’ clumsy — couldn’t do dat fine work nohow. 
But how can I tell ’em you’s my partner, missy? 
What’s a nice little white gal lak you got to do wid an 
ole brack woman. I’d like to know?” and growing 


110 


BUBBLES. 


more and more tickled over the notion, she swayed 
back and forth, giving out unctuous little chuckles 
that seemed especially adapted to her ample propor- 
tions and leisurely movements. 

“ The obligation will be on my side, Sukey — I under- 
stand that — for you have the patrons and I have not. 
I need money and work, which you can furnish me. 
The way it looks to me is that I ought in some way to 
help 3^ou in return.” Sukey’s laughter bubbled over, 
sweet as that of a care-free child. 

“ Heah dat, now ! She oughter feel obligationated 
to help ole Sukey, hey? Dat’s funny, too ! ” Then 
suddenly growing sober, “ But say, missy, if you means 
dat suah, dey is suthin, an’ you kin do it right now, ef 
you will.” 

She looked so wishful that Phyllis hastened to assure 
the good creature that she did mean it, and Sukey at 
once rose, sailed majestically across the room, and 
opened a drawer in an old red chest which cut off one 
corner. After searching some time amid a medley of 
spools, ribbons, bandannas, nutmegs, cooky cutters, 
hairpins, and other trifles too numerous to mention, she 
drew forth a letter, and with an indescribable air of high 
condescension, mingled with girlish eagerness, laid it in 
Phyllis’s hand. 

“ Jes’ read dat to me, missy. It’s a lettah from my deah 
Missus Alice in furrin parts. It come a-yesteddy, but 
Mis’ Peters, de lady on de fus’ floor what reads ’em to 
me mos’ times, she’s done gone away, and I don’ lak to 
ask everybody — you know.” 

“ Don’t you ? Now I call that a compliment ! ” 
laughed the girl. 


AN ODD PARTNERSHIP. 


Ill 


“ So ’tis, siiah,” quickly responded Sukey. “ It’s 
cause ob yore face, honey ; it’s got a good look, an’ I 
knows I can trust you.” 

“ Thank you, Sukey. What an odd postmark ! Let 
me see — Wiesbaden, is it? And what fine, pretty, old- 
fashioned handwriting. Is your Missus Alice a young 
lady?” 

“ Oh middlin’, missy, jes’ middlin’. Goin’ on fifty, 
mebbe. I was a young woman when she was horned, 
an’ I nussed her wid my own babby, dat didn’t lib to be 
a man. She’s allers young to me, an’ she’s de bes’ and 
kindes’ lady in dis whole roun’ worl’ I ” 

Phyllis had been unfolding the thin, perfumed sheets, 
and now read the letter, which impressed her with the 
pains taken to select such matter as would most inter- 
est the faithful old family servant. The attractions of 
kursaal, baths, museums, and palaces were but lightly 
touched upon, while a long description ’was given of 
the pension occupied by the family, the servants who 
waited upon them, the odd ways of living in the busy 
German town, and even a recipe for some novel dish 
which Sukey must try for them when they returned. 
It closed with loving messages from each, and was 
signed “Your fond nurseling.” 

“It’s a beautiful letter; no wonder you love the 
writer! It was really kind of you to let me read it,” 
said Phyllis, as she noticed Sukey vigorously wiping 
her eyes upon lier great gingham apron, too moved to 
speak. 

She nodded, and after a moment returned, 

“ I knows well ’nough who’s de kin’ one. But didn’ 
I tell you she was de bestes’ lady in all de worl’? 


112 


BUBBLES. 


Dear ! Dear ! ef I only hed de lamin’, now. Pears 
lak when I gets dem letters and sees dem little brack 
marks a-skirrupin’ all ober de papah, so kin’ ob neat 
and reg’lar, I can*t mos’ stan’ it to t’ink I ain’t neber 
goin’ to be able to read ’em myse’f. It’s a great 
thing to be eddicated, honey, a great, gran’ thing — 
you knows ! ” 

“ Yes, it is.” 

Phyllis folded the sheets carefully together, replac- 
ing them in the thick square envelope. “ I almost 
wonder you don’t try to learn to read, Sukey ; have you 
ever?” 

“ Yes, yes I has. I knows my a-b, abs, honey — I do 
so ! I can spell leetle words lak ‘ cat ’ and ‘ cow ’ and 
dem all in de print, but dis pot-hook writin’ — dat’s de 
beat o’ me ! ” She shook her head forlornly, but Phyl- 
lis, whose face had taken on a far-away look, only 
stared absently a moment, then nodded emphatically. 

“ I believe you could — ^just this one writing — 3^our 
love would help you. Sukey, suppose I teach you to 
read this letter for yourself, and all the other letters 
that come in this hand ; that is something I might do 
for you in return for what I ask of you.” 

“ Oh, honey ! ” The woman’s great eyes shone and 
softened like suns in a summer haze. “ Could you ? 
I’se so old and stupid. But I’d try. I’d wo’k harder 
dan I eber did at de washtub. Do you s’pose I could ? ” 

They talked a while longer, and the plan was fully 
developed. Two afternoons of each week, and oftener 
if necessary, Phyllis was to come and mend the fine 
laces, and meanwhile give Sukey a lesson in reading the 
letters of her “ Miss Alice.” The dusky partner, mean- 


AN ODD PARTNERSHIP. 


113 


while, was to collect payments and be general go-be- 
tween, so that Phyllis need not come into personal 
contact with her patrons, a part she shrank from. 

Her time was at her disposal, and as no questions 
were asked, she decided to say nothing at home for the 
present, for she had learned to dread the storm of com- 
ments any unusual step always occasioned there. She 
felt certain she was doing no wrong, and that the sum 
she could thus earn was needed to piece out the family 
income, so deemed a wise reticence best under the cir- 
cumstances. 

They proved enjoyable hours, as well as profitable. 
Her method of teaching was unique. She felt that 
Sukey was too old to be put through the thorough 
methods of the schools, so taught her arbitrarily, letter 
by letter, to distinguish the meaning in those cherished 
epistles ; and each time she left the slow, but patient, 
brain the richer by the knowledge of a few more of Miss 
Alice’s pot-hooks — fortunately straight and shapely 
ones — and bright with the hope of perfect understand- 
ing by-and-bye. 

By way of interlude to these mental efforts Sukey 
often rambled off into tales of the old plantation life, 
in which “ Massa Gunnel Stannard’s ” family figured 
as heroes and heroines. It had not occurred to Phyllis 
to ask the married name of Miss Alice. She indeed 
looked upon her in an impersonal, romantic light, as if 
she had been the central figure in a vivid novel of some 
other day. As to meeting her in the flesh, or running 
upon her daughter, the “ little Missy ” of Sukey’s nar- 
ratives, who figured in her imagination as a small child 
in white muslin and a blue sash — that was a contingency 


8 


114 


BUBBLES. 


too remote to consider. No wonder, then, that she was 
overwhelmed when she found herself accosted by one 
of the most charming young ladies of the day, whose 
name alone gave all the prestige of wealth and ancient 
lineage, whose beauty had been the talk of courts, and 
whose unobtrusive beneficence had won the respect of 
the lowly and the wise. 

“And to think Miss Carson is Sukey's ‘little Missy,’ ” 
she cried, as she ended her story of the lace-mending 
days. “Isn’t it odd, Marjorie? How small the world 
is, and how queerly things do turn out ! ” 

But Marjorie did not reflect the glow of her interest. 
She looked glum and disapproving. 

“ If it had happened in some other way it would 
have been fortunate enough,” she said, “ say in district 
visiting, for instance, or in King’s daughter work ; 
those are respectable charities and really the tiling, but 
this ! ” 

“ And why say ‘ this ’ in such a tone ? ” cried Phyllis 
hotly. “ I’m sure ” 

“Oh, can’t you see? But no, you never do see. 
Think what a position you have put yourself in — ac- 
tually a partner of that negro woman ! I declare, 
Phyllis Dunlap, you seem to have a perfect talent for 
doing outlandish things. It makes one fairly tremble, 
wondering what next.” 

Phyllis was chilled and wounded by her sister’s tone, 
and the glow of satisfaction faded into the dull gloom 
of misapprehension. Slie shut her lips closely to keep 
back an angry retort, while Marjorie continued ruth- 
lessly, working herself into fresher wrath as she pro- 
ceeded, 


AN ODD PARTNERSHIP. 


115 


“ Think ! All those McVeighs must know by this 
time, and their whole set will have it soon. Yes, you 
have fixed things now — there’s no use of trying after 
this. A nigger woman’s partner, a lace mender, oh 
horrors ! Come, let’s go home and hide ourselves. I 
can fairly hear their laughter, and feel their ridicule as 
the story spreads. Good heavens! Phyllis, how could 
such a blundering idiot as you are ever be my sister? ” 


CHAPTER XII. 

ANSON’S CREED. 

Phyllis went home crushed and sore. All the 
pleasurable glow of that chance meeting with Honor 
Carson was drowned in the cold water of Marjorie’s 
disgust, all the romance, the sweetness, the pathos of 
Sukey’s life story had become a bare, cold, undecorated 
reality, bristling with disagreeable possibilities. 

She was at first too hurt to reason, and accused her- 
self almost as sharply as her sister had done, feeling 
that somehow she must be made differently from others, 
and was therefore incapable of judging between the 
right and wrong of things. That Mrs. Erlacken had 
taken a different view from Marjorie’s did not comfort 
her much ; doubtless that lady had cared too little to 
discuss the matter when she saw her caller’s mind was 
made up. Then, she had been brought up to defer to 
her older sister’s judgment and superior taste, and was 
so acutely conscious of her influence at home, and the 
way in which both parents consulted her on all ques- 
tions of social decorum, that she could only yield un- 
conditionally to her judgment, and meekly own herself 
the tactless, thoughtless idiot she had been designated. 

She ate her dinner with little appetite and less con- 
versation, but her silence was not noticed amid the law- 
less chatter of the children, who were seldom controlled 
unless they interrupted to annoyance, and hastened 
116 


ANSON^S CREED. 


117 


to her room for a few moments of quiet thought, for 
she feared some new plan must be devised for earning 
the amount she now wholly depended upon for her own 
clothing. 

She had seen too plainly what a relief it was to her 
overburdened father when she told him she could do 
this for herself ever to retract the assurance, and felt 
that, let Marjorie storm as she might, she simply must 
in some way go on earning all she could. The lace 
mending had grown upon her hands, proving a far more 
steady and reliable source of income than the decorat- 
ing of fans and dinner cards, where she must compete 
with more artistic work each time, and she felt ex- 
tremely loath to let it go. 

Besides, it had all been managed so nicely ! She 
seldom was obliged to come in contact with her pa- 
trons, for Sukey, honest to a hair’s weight, put every 
cent of the girl’s special earnings by, ready for her at 
the week’s end, and with subtler honesty and a delicate 
kindliness worthy of the whitest soul, saved also the 
appreciative words which her really beautiful work often 
drew forth, passing them over with the harder coin. 

No, think and plan as she might, there seemed no 
better way, and Phyllis was beginning to feel both re- 
bellious and wretched when Jean suddenly appeared at 
the door, with the question, 

“ What makes you sit and think in the dark — is it 
easier ? I can only think about horrid faces, and 
hands reaching out to grab me, when the light is 
tooken away. Don’t such things come to you, and is 
it ’cause you’re gooder than I that you can stand the 
dark?” 


118 


BUBBLES. 


“ No,” said Phyllis faintly, feeling her musings had 
been scarcely less pleasant, “ but when I think hard 
and shut my eyes it makes no difference whether I have 
a light, or not. I don’t think good people ought to 
fear darkness, do you ? ” 

“ Perhaps not, but Pm not good, you know. I think 
being good all the time is tiresome, and if I am afraid 
I rather enjo}^’ the faces. They’re a change from every- 
day things, and it’s so much everyday with us ! But I 
came up to tell you something — your young man’s 
come.” 

“ My — what an expression, Jean ! Where on earth 
did you learn it? ” 

“ It’s what Cinder calls her beau. I heard her.” 

Cinder was the maid of all work whose name, Lu- 
cinda, had been thus contracted by her own tongue 
with such unconscious appropriateness as to be at once 
seized upon by the amused family. She was a mere 
street waif, and far too young to be talking about 
young men, except that the thought seems fostered 
early on our American soil, somehow. Phyllis had to 
laugh. 

“ Please call him Mr. Kingsley, or Anson, in future, 
my dear ; I think that will sound better. And run 
down, now, to tell him I am coming soon.” 

She rose, brushing her hair back and her tears away, 
gave a doubtful glance to her flushed cheeks and 
clouded eyes, conspicuous in the sudden flare of the 
gas jet, then slowly descended the narrow stairs, call- 
ing up her brightest smile as she did so. It did not 
for an instant deceive her lover. He rose to greet her, 
taking both hands, and restraining a tenderer welcome 


ANSON CREED. 


119 


because Jean still lingered, her solemn, curious eyes 
fixed upon them. 

“You didn’t expect me to-night, Phyllis? It isn’t 
my night,” he laughed. 

“No, but I wanted you,” softly. “How did you 
know ? ” 

“ I dared to hope so, dear. Jean, I think if you will 
examine my overcoat pockets you may find a cream 
chocolate, or two ; I brought them for somebody Pm 
very fond of, and I think it must be you.” 

Jean looked him over leisurely. 

“ No, it’s Phyllis — or it ought to be if you’re engaged 
to her. But I know she’d rather have you than the 
candy so 1 will take it, thank you. And I won’t bother 
you any more to-night.” 

A quaint, amused smile crept over her pretty face ; 
exactly such a smile as her grandmother might have 
worn when secretly delighted over the pranks of a 
naughty child, and the strange little creature vanished. 

“Isn’t she the oddest child?” broke out Anson, for 
perhaps the hundredth time. “ She sees through every- 
thing and every body. It’s positively uncanny ! ” 

“Perhaps no more than other children, only that she 
speaks her thought right out, with neither reserve, nor 
circumlocution. These little ones see more than we are 
apt to think, and one can't be too careful what one says 
in their presence. But it is not Jean’s honesty that 
impresses me, after all,” mused Phyllis with a thouglit- 
ful air. 

“ No, it is her age — she is as old as tlie sphinx — a 
child of the centuries ! ” laughed Kingsley. “ I always 
feel that she not only sees through me and all my 


120 


BUBBLES. 


faults, but can also recall the follies of my ancestors. 
I actually feel like apologizing for our family traits 
whenever she fastens those great eyes on me.” 

“She is odd, different. But a good little thing in 
the main, though uncomfortable sometimes. I begin 
to wonder if, as a family, we are not all odd and differ- 
ent. I certainly must be.” 

It was on her lover’s lips to say he was glad of it, 
but he suppressed the doubtful compliment for a ques- 
tion, 

“ What is it now, child ? Has somebody been find- 
ing fault with you ? ” 

“ That wouldn’t matter, so I did not have to find 
fault with myself. Anson, tell me, am I greatly lack- 
ing in tact, delicacy, dignity, knowledge of the world ? 
Do I ” 

. “Wait! Don’t put so many at once. Tact, deli- 
cacy, no I Dignity, not often. Knowledge of the 
world — well, you know enough to suit me, but I don’t 
tliink 3^ou are quite ripe for your valedictory, ^^et. But 
why? Come dear, let’s have it all. I saw the tear 
marks and the flushed cheeks, but I wouldn’t mention 
them till you led up to it; what’s happened?” 

“ Oh, I have been — forgetting m^^self. I think I am 
nearly always forgetting myself, but not in the nice un- 
selfish ways, you know; only forgetting what I should 
remember. I have never concealed from you that we 
are poor ” 

“ No, and we are well paired in that respect.” 

“ Nor that I have to help earn our income.” 

“I have to earn all mine, so we’re quits there, too.” 

She began to reflect his smile, but wanly. 


ANSON^S CREED. 


121 


“Now, if you found you had no ability to make a 
really first-class lawyer after all your striving, but could 
be a splendid — well, let us say meat-packer — would you 
think it right and best to pack meat? ” 

“ I don’t see where any crime would come in, unless 
I packed tainted meat.” 

“ Yes, but— what if you had to take for your partner 
another meat man — a butcher, for instance — and he was 
a — a — negro, what then ? ” 

She looked up sharply, and his smile became a won- 
dering gaze. 

“ Why, I cannot see the point, but if he made the 
best partner I could find I don’t see what difference his 
African blood would make. But in what mj^sterious 
way do meat-packers and negroes affect your worries, 
Phyllis? These conundrums of yours are too dark for 
me ! ” 

She threw him a reproachful glance. 

“ Anson, this is a serious matter, and you must take 
it so. I have been darning laces for an old colored 
woman, who does them up, and we’re in partnership. 
Marjorie has just found it out and she is shocked, 
angry, furious. She feels I have disgraced us all for- 
ever.” 

The girl looked so keenly at Anson that he firmly 
restrained his own sense of shock, which was consider- 
able, and said soothingly, “ Tell me just how it hap- 
pened, dear.” 

Thus encouraged, she began at the beginning, weav- 
ing her little yarn with skill, and put in this way the 
facts, which had seemed grotesquely peculiar when 
baldly mentioned, began to change their complexion. 


122 


BUBBLES. 


They were less negro-like than before. It does make 
such a difference how a matter is presented to one! 
One can hand out a rose, even, so that you would not 
dare to touch it, all a-bristle with thorns ; or one can 
reach it to you so delicately no tliorn is observable, 
only the beautiful velvet petals and the dainty per- 
fume. 

“I can see Marjorie’s objections,” he said slowly, 
feeling it behooved him to tread carefully on dangerous 
ground. “ She thinks it is a story which, if told in a 
malicious way, would be annoying and harmful, and in 
a sense she is right. But is Miss Carson a girl to tell 
it in that way ? ” 

“ Possibly not — no, I do not think she is, but Kate 
McVeigh?” 

“ The Misses McVeigh are not too original. They 
will tell it as they hear it, and I, too, feel inclined to 
trust Miss Carson. She evidently saw this matter from 
the side of romance and kindliness. She found you 
helpful to her old mammy, and was pleased and glad. 
Perhaps she — wait I there’s another side. How about 
trusting old Sukey herself? She may not have told 
anybody.” 

“Oh, she certainly would her own ‘Miss Alice’ and 
‘ little Missy.’ I don’t believe she could keep it from 
them.” 

“ Possibly not, still I don’t know. I’ve a mind to 
think differently. Time will tell. Meanwhile ” 

“Yes, meanwhile. Must I give this up? I feel I 
ought for your sake, Anson. Your friends should not 
be able to say your wife worked with an old n egress. 
And yet, it is for your sake — our sakes — that I want to 


ANSON^S CREED. 


123 


keep on. We need so many things to start with, and 
I had counted on this steady income.” 

He drew her to him fondly. 

“ You asked me what I should do as a first-class meat 
packer with a ‘ culled ’ partner. Do you really want to 
know ? ” 

“ Yes, I do.” 

“Well, I should — go on packing good meat. That’s 
all. The idle tongues of the world must wag, and if 
you or I can give them employment for a time, others 
have a rest. But it is not the idle tongues that we care 
for, Phyllis.” 

“No. Yet they do sting, Anson.” 

“ Marjorie’s stung because you love her, but can Kate 
McVeigh hurt either you, or me ? Phyllis, dear, I have 
a theory of life that seems to me simplicity itself, and I 
would be glad if we could follow it, as we jog along 
together.” 

“ Yes ? ” She was looking at him earnestly. 

“ It’s only this. Live bravely, pay promptly, speak 
discreetly, think deeply, and fear no man, but God only. 
Whether one packs meat, or juries, darns laces, or col- 
lects them, if he and she follow these rules they may 
live without reproach and die without dread, it seems 
to me. Mere details are our own affair. And remem- 
ber, my love, the world cannot hurt you if you do not 
care for it. When you live by the higher law, and 
square your actions by the heavenly rule, the petty 
measurements of earth will sink into insignificance. 
No one can harm the King’s heir.” 

His voice had grown tender as a mother’s, and as 


124 


BUBBLES. 


Phyllis felt his strength sustaining her, the pettiness of 
these perplexities receded into nothingness. 

“I understand,” she said softly, and both were still a 
while in that outward silence which means but a closer 
communion of souls. 


CHAPTER XTII. 


PHYLLIS RECEIVES . AN INVITATION. 

It was a fortnight later, and Phyllis stood, with an 
odd look on her face, gazing down at the enclosure she 
had just removed from a square envelope she held in 
her hand. She had received the note from the postman 
at the door, opened it on her way to the breakfast 
table, and now stopped just within the dining-room 
door to read it. 

“Well, what is it, child?” asked her mother some- 
what sharply, while George added in his languid drawl, 
“ Can’t be a bill, they’re never folded that way.” 

She looked up with a smile. 

“It is an invitation. The Misses McVeigh give a 
luncheon for their friend Miss Carson, Thursday noon.” 

“The McVeigh girls — for Miss Carson — and you are 
invited ? ” Mrs. Dunlap’s uncertain voice wound up 
in a little shriek of delighted astonishment. 

“ Certainly ! Jean, what are you staring at ? ” 

“ I was thinking ’twas Miss Carson made ’em do it. 
She likes you.” 

Phyllis laughed. 

“ No doubt you are right, little girl. I wonder if 
Mar ” 

She checked herself, remembering the children, but 
her father thoughtlessly finished, 

“ If Marjorie has a bid ? Gracious ! I hope so. 
There’ll be trouble if she hasn’t.” 


125 


126 


BUBBLES. 


“Humph! Well, she won’t get any,” muttered the 
boy, his remarks somewhat smothered in buckwheat 
cakes, “ Kate McVeigh can’t bear her, and Terry isn’t 
slow to say it. She calls Marjie a pushing minx — the 
old cat I ” 

“ Sh-h I ” admonished Phyllis with uplifted finger, 
for a slam of the outer basement door, and a quick step 
through the entry heralded the advent of that young 
gentleman, whose exits and entrances were somewhat 
lacking in formality. 

“ Hello I ” he said, sticking his head into the aperture 
made by the partly opened door, “ Through breakfast 
yet? I came away before thej’^’d half finished. D’you 
get your bid. Miss Phyllis ? ” 

“ Indeed I did I And I suppose I have you to thank 
for it?” 

“ Not much! I know enough not to meddle in these 
girls’ ‘doings. ’Twas Kate herself, and I don’t believe 
even Honor prodded her up. She says she likes folks 
that go their own gait and don’t seem to care for peo- 
ple’s talk. It took her, that way you came out fiat- 
footed, one day when they were here, and told all about 
old Sukey White and the lace work. She said Suke 
had never said a word, and you needn’t have done it 
either, but when Honor began praising you up for visit- 
ing the poor, and all that, she said you just lifted your 
hand and said, calm as an oyster, ‘ No, it wasn’t that 
way at all; I’ll tell you all about it,’ and she said you 
told it as if you was so sure you were right that no- 
body could think different. And when they got out 
Honor said, ‘ Kate McVeigh, that’s a fine girl. I like 
her ! ’ and Kate said, ‘Well, I begin to think Terry has 


PHYLLIS RECEIVES AN INVITATION. 


127 


good taste, after all,’ and they came home and told us 
all at dinner, and father said, ‘ Some good metal there ! ’ 
and when the girls made out tlieir list Kate said, first 
thing, ‘ Girls, shall we have Phyllis Dunlap ? ’ and 
Honor said, ‘ Indeed we will ! ’ and Flo said, ‘ Why 
not? ’ and there you are ! ” 

Master Terence stopped to beam and breathe, while 
Phyllis laughed heartily. She had been through one or 
two trying scenes in respect to the partnership, but by 
patient good-nature, and a certain sustained calm that 
did not consider defeat, held her own and still assisted 
the negress as usual. 

It had tested her honesty for a minute when the 
young ladies called and, under the cold glances of Miss 
McVeigh, Honor had warmly praised her, but she re- 
membered in time Anson’s “ higher law and heavenly 
rule,” so managed to answer as Terry has told. It 
made an impression even upon worldly Kate, though it 
possibly needed the finer nature of Honor to make that 
impression permanent. 

When Teny had clattered off, with George trailing 
in his wake after their usual custom, Phyllis turned 
thoughtfully to her mother. 

“ Shall I go ? ” she asked, rising to lift down the 
clamoring baby from her high chair. 

“ Go ? ” shrieked Mrs. Dunlap, “ I should say so ! 
The idea of letting such a chance be lost. Only, I do 
hope Marjorie isn’t left out. She is the one to grace 
such an occasion. She always knows just how to dress 
and to carry herself.” 

Phyllis overlooked the implied discredit of her own 
powers, and asked gently. 


128 


BUBBLES. 


“But had I better, if she is not asked? She will 
feel it a good deal.” 

“ Of course she will, poor child ! And it will be a 
burning shame. But you must go, anyhow. Possibly 
there are no married ladies asked — very likely indeed 
— and that would be reason enough for overlooking 
her. Anyhow, she has her separate friends and inter- 
ests now, and you cannot always be taking them into 
account. She ought to make her way, and will, but 
sometimes it is weary work.” 

The mother sighed. It sometimes seemed to her 
that her life of striving after unattainable effects, of 
covering up unsightly blemishes, of trying to advance 
her family in difficult directions, did not bring the calm 
and peace that motherly effort should know. There 
was still so much to be desired ! The mental attitude 
of standing on tiptoe, with an eager reach after empti- 
ness, is as painful as the physical. It strains eyes and 
senses, destroys equilibrium, unsettles the nerves. If 
persisted in too long it may end by toppling one over 
upon the nose. It is altogether uneasy and ungraceful. 

She looked at Phyllis, so calmly poised and so little 
affected by her own restless eagerness, with a wonder 
which contained more admiration than she usually ac- 
corded her ; possibly she, too, might make an impres- 
sion, if she had not Marjorie’s beauty and style. Peo- 
ple did seem to take to her, even with all her oddities. 
She listened silently as the girl remarked in a leisurely 
tone, 

“Well, we will wait and see. I can easily give it 
up, if it seems best, and if I do go it will be largely be- 
cause of Honor Carson. I should like to see more of 


PHYLLIS RECEIVES AN INVITATION. 


129 


her. J ust to watch her speaking face, with its lights 
and shades, is a pleasure.” 

“And don’t you care at all about — about simply the 
going there ? ” asked the mother, with an almost wistful 
intonation. Phyllis gave her gleeful, ready little laugh, 
with now a triumphant ring in it, and leaning toward 
Mrs. Dunlap, who liad dropped into a chair, laid a light 
hand lovingly upon each shoulder. 

“ Mother, you mustn’t be shocked, but honestly I 
don’t’ — not much. It will be pretty and fine and en- 
joyable, to be sure, but then there are other things. 
Do you know?” — with a little affectionate shake, as if 
for emphasis — “ it comes to me now and then, that 
Phyllis Dunlap is quite good company for me — Phyllis 
at her best, of course, when she is neither cross, nor 
depressed, nor covetous — and that in our little ‘ set ’ 
we can be just as independent as anybody ? What are 
the McVeighs, and all the wealth and fashion they 
represent, when we have our, dear home people, and 
Anson, and an abiding faith in each other? These are 
the only necessities of life, these love ties and honor 
ties — let the rest go ! ” 

“ Perhaps ; but you were always odd, Phyllis. And 
I think Anson aids and abets you in it. But I do 
sometimes wish Marjorie could be more like you in 
some ways. She would be more comfortable. She 
was really cross, last night — all worn out with moving, 
I know — but the way she snapped Romayne up really 
startled me. He took it coolly, though, almost as if he 
was used to it, and only lighted a cigar and walked 
out, but I didn’t like his look. I wonder how the new 
business goes ? I asked him, but he didn’t give me 
9 


130 


BUBBLES. 


much satisfaction. He said they weren’t fairly settled 
yet, or something to that effect, and changed the sub- 
ject. They always seem to have plenty to spend, but 
I don’t know. Your father says he isn’t a very good 
manager, and we know Marjorie doesn’t deny herself. 
I sometimes tremble for them.” 

“Poor little mother! You have got so used to 
scratching for your chicks that you can’t let them do 
for themselves. I wouldn’t worry over them ; they’ll 
come out on their feet. They always do. Hark I isn’t 
that Marjorie’s voice now ? ” 

It was, indeed, and she entered bearing the baby in 
her arms. “ I found this puss half way up the front 
stairs,” she said. “ Why are you congregated down 
here? Aren’t you late with breakfast? Romayne has 
to get down town early now, so we are smart.” 

“ Gh, breakfast is long past,” said Phyllis. “ Mother 
and I "were visiting. Come, well go up to the sitting- 
room. Give me that heavy child, dear ; you shouldn’t 
try to carry her.” 

“ I am feeling stronger to-day, but so tired out as 
I’ve been — and worried to death I The bills are per- 
fectly monstrous ; twice what we expected. Romayne 
says they can’t expect to be paid such sums — these 
work people, you know — they are regular robbers ! 
Fifteen dollars just for hired help, and I only had a 
man and woman a week, and was around with them, 
hard at it, every minute. They pretended to cut it 
down, too.” 

“ They must have done so,” observed Phyllis, quietly. 
“At usual rates it would have been fully twenty.” 

“Well, I say it’s ridiculous! Just putting down a 


PHYLLIS RECEIVES AN INVITATION. 


131 


few carpets, and washing woodwork, and hanging 
pictures.” 

“And scrubbing floors, and burnishing chandeliers, 
and climbing up and down stepladders, and hauling, 
and lifting, and dusting, for ten hours out of the 
twenty-four,” added the younger sister. “ Oh ! come 
Marjie, don’t begrudge this bill, I beg you. It was 
fully earned ! Mother and I tried cleaning house with 
only Cinder's help, last fall, and I know. I can work 
that way occasionally through love and interest, but it 
would take a goodly heap of crisp green notes ^io repay 
me fully in any other way, I can tell you ! ” 

“ Oh, you never see things like other people,” sniffed 
Mrs. Matteson. “ One bill I dont begrudge, and that 
is for the new rugs and hangings, for all it made 
Romayne whistle. They are simply perfect, and make 
our rooms really elegant. But these other things don’t 
show off at all ; it seems just money thrown away. 
What’s this ? ” 

She pounced upon the creamy square, which Phyllis 
had tossed carelessly upon the sideboard, and un- 
ceremoniously picked it up to read the address. They 
were about leaving the room, Phyllis ahead with the 
baby, Marjorie closely following, and Mrs. Dunlap 
stopping at the door leading kitchenward to say a 
last word to the ever-hurrying, yet always-delinquent, 
Cinder. 

Phyllis glanced back, peering around the laughing 
Fay, who was making pretences at pulling her hair, and 
Mrs. Dunlap half turned from the door. Each showed 
expectation and uneasiness, but Phyllis answered 
promptly. 


132 


BUBBLES. 


“ Read it, if you like. It has just come.” 

Nothing loath, Marjorie made quick use of the per- 
mission, and her sister, watching without seeming to, 
saw a slow, dark flush steal over her beautiful face, 
while her teeth came together with a little click. 

“ Ah ! ” she said presently in a cold voice. “ The Mc- 
Veighs. I heard they were to give a luncheon. Fannie 
Myers is asked.” 

“ I presume, then, it is all girls — a rosebud party,” 
said Phyllis, relieved, but trying not to seem so. 

“ Yes,^ undoubtedly,” added Mrs. Dunlap with un- 
mistakable satisfaction. “ Now remember. Cinder. 
The last time you scorched them badly, and you must 
be more careful. And before you begin the ironing 
take time to clean out the kitchen sink — it’s dis- 
graceful the way you neglect it! Yes, it must be just 
girls.” 

“ But it isn’t,” said Marjorie, still in that icy voice. 
“ They have asked Mrs. Prentice, I know, and of 
course will have that flighty Mrs. Tremayne — they are 
thicker than pease in a pod. How did you manage it, 
Phyllis? I have been quite overlooked. I suppose 
you got that freckled-faced youngster to beg one for 
you.” 

Phyllis was now at the top of the basement stairs, 
and her answer did not come at once. She was trying 
to keep down the hurt and angry tears, while she held 
the baby close, and swallowed the sense of wrong and 
misapprehension that rose in her throat. Meanwhile 
Mrs. Dunlap said in her fretted voice, 

“Now, that’s too. bad, Marjie ! She did not try at 
all. They asked her because they wanted her, and she 


PHYLLIS RECEIVES AN INVITATION 


133 


said she wouldn’t even accept if you cared, but I told 
her she should.” 

“Wouldn’t go? A likely story!” returned Mrs. 
Matteson, with a bitter laugh. 

But just then came the answer from above, clear and 
sweet. “ I think it only happened because I am an out 
and out working girl, Marjie. They knew I couldn’t 
presume on the favor. It is very different with 3^011. 
Once invited nothing could keep you back, and they 
are a bit envious of your superior charms. That’s all, 
isn’t it, baby? ” and they heard her toss the little one 
up and down amid its merry spurts of laughter, as if 
she had not a care, nor a thought of sadness in the 
world . 

“ Marjorie,” said Mrs. Dunlap, before the other 
could speak, and she stepped closer with an impressive 
air that sat strangely upon her, “ if you interfere I shall 
never forgive you ! Phyllis shall go.'^ 


CHAPTER XIV. 


A DAY IN THE WORLD. 

Phyllis did go. Marjorie evidently thought best to 
say no more, either for or against the matter, and her 
sister could not feel happy over it, because the unin- 
vited one would not show interest enough even to ask 
what she intended to wear. There were certain items 
of finery which the young matroii might have offered 
that would greatly have assisted Phyllis in a pretty 
toilette, but nothing was said of them, either, and 
Phyllis would not ask for what she felt should have 
been freely lent, as had always been the custom between 
the girls. 

She therefore donned her best gown, put up her hair 
in the most becoming way she knew, and pinned on the 
modest bunch of sweet-scented violets Anson had 
thoughtfully sent for the occasion against her crush 
collar, where its perfume seemed to soothe her like a 
caress. 

“ You look very nice,” said Mrs. Dunlap, looking her 
over critically as she appeared below, “only too plain. 
You wouldn’t like to take my garnet comb? ” 

“Oh no, mother, thank you; not for this.” 

“Well, perhaps not. It’s well it is a luncheon, for 
one can wear what she pleases, if it is becoming. You 
really do look well.” 

“Yes,” said Jean, who was standing before the deb- 
134 


A DAY IN THE WORLD. 


135 


utante with her small hands clasped behind her, after 
a way she had, “Yes, you are very nice, Phyllis, and it 
isn’t all your clothes, either. It’s ’cause your face 
shines like a bright day, and you don’t seem to be 
thinking, ‘ Plow fine I am ! ’ and fussing over your 
things. I think Miss Carson will improve o’ you.” 

Jean loved a high-sounding vocabulary. She caugl^t 
up new words with alacrity, sometimes making a jump 
at both sound and sense. Knowing this, Phyllis only 
smiled fondly as she stooped to kiss her. It was one 
of her lovely traits that she could be lenient to pecul- 
iarities, and overlook mistakes when necessary. She 
said some people went about armed with a long hat 
pin, ready to jab it into every mispronunciation or 
grammatical error they could detect. For her part she 
grew fond of the small errors of the old, or the very 
young, and it hurt her when any one tried to punch 
them out of existence. Now she only said, 

“Thank you, Jean! If you quite approve of me I 
shall be satisfied. Now, good-bye and imagine me hav- 
ing a beautiful time peering out from my little corner 
upon the great world, and wondering over its ways.” 

“You must remember and tell us everything,” called 
Mrs. Dunlap after her, “ and don't be too shy.” 

“ And be sure to bring me a piece of cake,” shouted 
Jean, as she ran down the steps. 

It was a bit dazzling, she confessed to herself, as she 
gave her wraps over to the maid, and glanced about 
her, after her rapid walk. The large chamber, hung 
with blue satin and lace, and furnished in ivory white 
and gold, was alive with an ever-changing throng of 
fair young women who came in long, fiuffy carriage 


136 


B UBBLES, 


wraps, or natty street attire, to emerge visions of grace 
and fashion in every conceivable style of rich house 
costume, or fur-trimmed walking dress. 

Phyllis, looking vainly for one familiar face, felt for 
a moment as if cast ashore on some far Pacific island, 
gorgeous but lonely ; then a lady entered, and her eyes 
lightened as she saw and remembered Mrs. Erlacken, 
her first patron at the lace mending. It was but a 
passing gleam, for instantly she told herself she must 
not look for social recognition where she had simply 
found kindly condescension, and was about to take her 
shy way down the broad oak staircase alone, when she 
heard at her elbow, 

“Wait! I know your face well, but your name? 
I’ve a wretched memory for names — forgot my own 
once, when I went to inquire for a registered letter at 
the post office, and actually gave my sister’s instead — 
but I do hope you know we,” and the lady’s hand was 
most cordially extended, as she dropped a magnificent 
fur cloak into the obsequious arms of the maid. 

“ Indeed I do, Mrs. Erlacken, and I am Phyllis Dun- 
lap. You are very kind to remember even my face, I 
think.” 

“ I always remember nice, sweet things, my dear, 
but names are stupid and non-committal. ‘ Phyllis ’ 
though— that is good ! I like that. Are you going 
down? Wait a second — my handkerchief, Betty. It’s 
in that inner cloak pocket — thank you! And now, 
‘faire Phyllis with the morninge face,’ sliall we descend 
together ? ” 

So modest Phyllis, not half knowing her good for- 
tune, was ushered into the drawing-rooms by one of the 


A DAT m THE WORLD. 


137 


most indisputable society leaders in the city, and thus 
chaperoned, instantly found favor, her plain, but taste- 
ful, gown being accepted as a mere caprice of one whose 
whole air denoted that gowns were of minor impor- 
tance to her. 

Kate McVeigh opened her eyes a little, and in pre- 
senting Phyllis to her mother was somewhat impress- 
ive. 

“Ah, Miss Dunlap?” murmured Terry’s fleshy 
mamma, her large, loose lips working with surprise. 
“ I didn’t know you two were friends, Caryl,” turning 
to Mrs. Erlacken quickly. 

“Didn’t you? And you always know everything, 
dear Mrs. McVeigh. Yet in the whirl of life some 
things must escape one. Honor, my child, how art 
thou ? ” 

“ Perfectly well, Caryl dear, and delighted to see 
you. And with Miss Dunlap too — how nice ! ” reach- 
ing an eager white hand to the latter. 

“ You know I am always lucky at finding four-leaved 
clovers. Honor. But I am glad that you also know my 
friend Phyllis.” 

“ Yes, and hope to know her better,” added Miss Car- 
son with a lovely smile, then others pushed along and 
the two had to give place. 

“ You are dear friends, you and that charming Miss 
Carson ? ” asked Phyllis warmly. 

“ Yes, and cousins. I, too, am a Stannard. The Mc- 
Veighs are related on the other side ; Mrs. McVeigh 
and Honor’s father are first cousins, also.” 

“Ah ! I see. I wondered ” 

Phyllis checked herself with a deep blush. She had 


138 


B UBBLES. 


almost spoken out her surprise that Honor Carson and 
the McVeigh family could be such close friends. She 
felt terrified at the nearness of this social precipice she 
had nearly tumbled into. Mrs. Erlacken looked at her 
quizzically, and laughed. “ So would I wonder, if I 
didn’t know,” she answered understandingly. “Rela- 
tionship is very binding in some families. I make less 
of it. I have cousins I never care to see again, but 
you can understand Honor is not one of them. You 
like her too, my dear ? ” 

“ I would like to love her. I admire her with all my 
heart ! ” cried Phyllis. “ When goodness and beauty 
go together they are irresistible.” 

“ What a warm hearted little thing you are ! You 
would melt an Esquimaux. Here is a seat, and I hate 
to stand. Do you know many here ? ” 

They dropped down upon the cushioned window seat 
of the library, through which they looked into the 
greenness and glow of a conservatory, and Phyllis 
answered. 

“ Only one or two. It is not my world, you are 
aware. I am but a plain Jenny Wren, and these are 
birds of paradise. I like to watch them, though,” let- 
ting her pleased eyes follow the graceful figures passing 
to and fro, without a hint of envy in their depths. 

“And what do you think as you watch them, little 
brown wren ? ” laughed the lady. 

“ W ell, excuse me, but I was thinking it is largely a 
matter of clothes and pure English, after all. Of 
course the ‘ daughter of a hundred earls,’ which here in 
America must mean the daughter of a generation or 
two of successful manufacturers, or — brewers — majTeel 


A DAY IN THE WORLD. 


139 


differently inside, but outside she is much of a sameness 
with the other girl who must work to eat.” 

“ Take care ! Take care ! My corns are sensitive, 
my dear. That word ‘ manufacturers ’ ” 

“ Oh I ” laughed Phyllis, with an arch look. “ Be so 
thankful it is not brewers ! No, but honestly I don’t 
feel cynical one bit. It is beautiful and dream-like and 
impressive, but it is not necessary'' 

“Good heavens! Who said it was? What do you 
mean, child?” 

“I mean — well, it has been so perfectly said by some 
one else; it is not in ‘the abundance of things ’that 
our life consists, you’ll remember. We can be as true, 
as loving, as happy, as wise, as useful in calico as in 
silk attire. We can have it all inside — the refinement, 
the sparkle, the appreciation of all that is delicate and 
fine, can’t we, Mrs. Erlacken?” 

The lady pinched her arm gently. 

“ Don’t have too much, dear ; it is wasted on this 
age. Why burn precious spices when a penny joss-stick 
will answer ? Come, they are going to the tables ; now, 
there is where the substantiality of all this counts. 
You can’t dream away hunger, can you, or feed it from 
within ? ” 

“Not every kind, perhaps. But, my dear madam, 
am I not intruding upon you? You have so many 
friends, and ” 

“Oh! come, child, or we’ll be left. I have friends 
enough, heaven knows, but occasionally I like some- 
thing new in that line, so have appropriated you, if you 
don’t object.” 

Phyllis met the glance of the other with one as cordial, 


140 


BUBBLES. 


and suddenly felt her arm tucked within the beautiful 
velvet sleeve of Mrs. Erlacken, with a movement both 
protecting and intimate. She could but understand 
that this young matron meant to take possession of her, 
and not out of pity either. The girl felt this frank 
liking to the core of her being, and warmed to it, until 
she began throwing off bright girlish scintillations of 
fun and nonsense, such as she kept for Marjorie usually, 
until her new friend was shaking with laughter. 

“Hush, do ! ” she sputtered over a mouthful of salad. 
“ How oddly you do see things ! I haven’t laughed so 
for a month.” 

Meanwhile the others around this table saw there 
was rare fun at Mrs. Erlacken’s end, and began putting 
in a word or two as they could, until the electricity of 
good-humored merriment ran clear about the circle, 
and united them in merry bonds. Honor Carson pre- 
sided at this board, and was glad to see that the shy 
girl she had been attracted to could hold her own in a 
play of words and wit. 

She flashed a telegraphic glance at her Cousin Caryl, 
who readily understood it, and nodded approval. They 
had, as society would sa}^ “ taken up ” Miss Dunlap. 
But she, serene in her own self-respect, had no sensa- 
tion of being uplifted, but only felt that all were kind 
and friendly, and she glad to be among them. 

“ If they had only asked Marjorie ! ” she thought re- 
gretfully now and then. “ She is so beautiful and so 
clever. They would like her much better than me, if 
they knew her. It’s so strange it isn’t Marjorie ! ” 

“ What a merry table ! ” cried one or two, from Kate 
McVeigh’s end of the room, as they gathered about 


A DAY IN THE WORLD. 


141 


our lingering chatterers, “ what has made you all so 
jolly?” 

“Oh, it’s Miss Dunlap^” they answered. “She says 
every flower suggests some picture to her. Hush — 
listen ! ” 

“Hollyhocks?” Phyllis was saying in answer to a 
question. “ Oh ! yes indeed. One look is enough. 
Don’t you see a castle with a broad terrace, and stone 
steps leading down into a prim old garden ? There is 
a peacock on the terrace, and stately ladies are trailing 
their brocaded skirts back and forth as they gaze over 
the parapet at a handsome young knight, just riding 
away on his coal-black steed. And down by the sun- 
dial, half buried amid the tall hollyhocks, is a young 
girl watching, too, her eyes all misty with tears, and in 
spite of the waving kerchiefs on the terrace it is her 
slight young figure he sees last of all, as he rides 
away.” 

“ Ah, charming ! Myra Reede, aren’t you proud to 
think you wore hollyhocks to-day? And now, your 
own violets. Miss Dunlap — give us their picture — do!” 

But Phyllis suddenly began to feel herself too con- 
spicuous a centre to this group, and grew shy at once. 

“ My violets ? ” she repeated, blushing warmly. “ Oh, 
their picture is simply home. It has a different scene 
for each of us, and each thinks hers the dearest and 
sweetest. But that reminds me, modesty and violets 
should go together, and I am talking too much.” 

She withdrew into her reticent mood then, letting 
only her eyes speak, but all looked with new interest 
upon the stranger. There is something in a glowing 
imagination which rouses, interests, vivifies. The most 


142 


BUBBLES. 


of US are so dull and commonplace, so near-sighted, in 
fact, that we never get much beyond the actual. 

Thus these bright plumaged girls, who had been 
characterized as birds of paradise, gazed at the little 
brown wren in her plain feathers, and told each other 
she was “ interesting,” and, my dear girls, to be inter- 
esting in this dreary world of the bores and bored is to 
be a social power. 


CHAPTER XV. 


COMPUNCTIONS. 

It was not easy for Phyllis to realize her sudden 
popularity. In the following weeks, when she found 
herself invited, urged, almost dragged forth among 
those exclusives whose homes had been like unread 
stories to her, hitlierto, it was a pleasure bordering 
closely upon reluctance. There were many reasons for 
this; Marjorie’s bitterness, Anson’s quizzical attitude, 
her parents’ eager nervousness, and above everything 
else, her own feeling that it was all unreal, evanescent, 
capricious, and undignified, putting her into an attitude 
of seeming disloyalty to those she loved best on earth. 

After three weeks of teas, dinners and evenings, fol- 
lowing each other in swift succession, to all of which 
she was bidden in a matter-of-course way, as the friend 
of Honor Carson and Mrs. Eiiacken, she took from 
Cinder’s grimy hand, one morning, another of the 
thick, square envelopes which were becoming so com- 
mon, and stood looking down upon it, with a pucker 
between her eyes. 

“ It’s one more o’ them bids, Miss Phyllis,” giggled 
the girl, her pleased smile distorted into a diabolical 
grin by the black smudge across her nose', “ They come 
in heaps, these days, don’t they? Guess they’re figger- 
in’ to git a bid back agin by-an’-bye,” and throwing 
what she considered an arch glance behind her, she 
143 


144 


BUBBLES. 


burst through the doorway, her elbows grazing each 
side of the casing as she disappeared. 

Something about the whole proceeding grated u^ion 
Phyllis’s finer nature. She continued to frown as she 
opened the missive, and found inscribed therein Mr. 
and Mrs., J. H. Eiiacken’s compliments for dinner, in 
the usual form. 

She stood a moment with an intently thoughtful air, 
and varying expressions swept across her face. She 
recalled all that had pleased and dazzled her — the 
music, the lights, the flowers, the friendliness, the feel- 
ing that, if she were out of her element among these 
fortunate people, she could at least make them forget 
the difference and welcome her eagerly. Then she 
thought of Anson, who had good-iiaturedl}^ forborne 
her society on several occasions, never forgetting to 
furnish the flowers which she was to wear for other 
eyes, and tlien came the more troublous thought of 
Marjorie, who had so changed to her. How different 
she was from the dear sister of old, when they had 
their little confidences at night, after sharing every 
pleasure, every grief, every pretty trifle, every joke and 
jollity of the day. 

Now, they seemed continents apart, and Marjorie’s 
eyes, when they rested upon her, were hard and in- 
different, lier voice as inflexible as iron; it almost 
seemed she hated her. 

“ It isn’t right ! ” said Phyllis fiercely, crumpling the 
card in her hand. “ These are not my people, it is not 
my world. I am sailing under false colors. Just be- 
cause one or two 'are generous and have taken a liking 
to me, the rest follow suit without question. But what 


COMPUNCTIONS. 


145 


business have I in a circle where neither my relatives, 
nor my future husband, are received? It must not 
be!” 

She ran resolutely up the stairs to her small room, 
and seated herself at her desk. She would write a 
note which should frankly state her position. Mrs. 
Erlacken would understand. But upon opening the 
lid she was vexed to find her best stationery all gone, 
and nothing suitable to be found, though she searched 
diligently. 

“ How annoying ! ” she thought, and with a petulant 
motion seized a blotting-book and turned it upside 
down with a vicious shake, whereupon out dropped a 
thick tinted sheet. “Ah, at last! ” she cried joyfully, 
and sprang to pick it up from the floor. 

But as she turned it over her countenance fell. It 
was one of that box belonging to Marjorie, which bore 
the coronet borrowed from Romayne’s remote ancestor. 

“ Oh dear ! It won’t do at all,” she cried vexedly, 
and then something of the incongruity in all these 
things came over her, and brought an irrepressible 
laugh. 

“ How ridiculous it is, after all ! Imagine me stating 
my peculiar objections to high society upon this crested 
sheet ! What a muddle we make of what should be 
our simple life in America when we try to rule it by 
foreign notions. And how infinitely small and silly all 
these matters must seem when one looks upon them 
from above. Well, let me see — I will not write at all. 
I will go and talk it over with Mrs. Erlacken. She is 
kind and sensible. I’m sure I can make her under- 
stand, without giving offence. Yes, I will go now.” 

10 


146 


BUBBLES. 


She was soon upon her way, but as she turned the 
next corner she came face to face with Anson, hurry- 
ing in the opposite direction, his face quite white, while 
the grieved lines about his firm mouth stirred her to 
instant pity. 

“ Anson ! ” she cried as he was passing obliviously, 
his eyes fixed and staring, “ Anson, what is it? What 
is it?” 

Her voice reached his dazed senses. 

“ Oh, Phyllis ! I was coming to you.” How hoarse 
his voice sounded ! “ I must go west on the next train 

— in an hour. Mother is dangerously ill.” 

“ Oh, my poor boy ! ” Phyllis crept close, her whole 
movement a pitying caress. “Come home with me, 
dear, and tell me everything. Come ! ” 

They walked swiftly and silently over the short dis- 
tance, and the instant the door shut them in Phyllis 
turned and reached out her hands, with the low cry, 

“ Dearest, if I could only help you to bear it ! ” 

He did not answer, except to draw her to him, and 
she felt the long shivers go over him ; those dreary 
waves of terror and dismay which overwhelm the soul, 
suddenly chilled by the black shadow of an approach- 
ing calamity too great to be believed. She knew how 
he loved his mother, how perfect and unbroken had 
been the tie between them, and she felt deeply for 
him. 

“ Tell me all about it,” she whispered, as she led him 
to an easy chair and drew a hassock to his feet. “ When 
did you hear ? ” 

“ This morning. A telegram. Here it is. She has 
only been gone a week.” 


COMPUNCTIONS. 


147 


He fumbled in his pockets till he found the crumpled 
yellow slip, and held it out. Phyllis read its brief, sad 
message silently. 

“ Your mother is dangerously ill. Come immedi- 
ately.” 

It was signed by the husband of the niece at whose 
home she was visiting. 

“ And is this the first you have heard ? ” she asked 
softl}^ 

“ Yes. It must be very sudden. And she was so 
well when she left me. She has always been so well, 
and bright, and young. comrade ! My mother ! ” 

Their tears mingled as he caught the hands of 
Phyllis and wrung them in both his own, in a passion 
of woe. 

“You may find her better,” she urged, presently. 
“ Don’t be so despairing. It isn’t like you, Anson. 
Many people are seriously ill, and j^et recover soon.” 

He gazed at her as if not seeing. 

“ There were just the two — mother and you. This 
world is claiming you. Is the other world claiming 
her? Ah, God! I begin to realize what loneliness 
means.” 

“Anson, my darling. You break my heart! It is 
not true. I don’t care for it. I was just going to tell 
them so. Oh, Anson, have you cared?'"'* 

“ Cared ! ” He looked at her yearningly. 

“ My love, I didn't think — you never seemed to mind. 
I knew it was not just the thing, but I never dreamed 
you felt like that.” 

He still gazed at her, while the tears streamed over 
her face, and his own lightened. 


148 


BUBBLES. 


“ I wouldn’t be selfish, dear, but I missed you. Oh, 
Phyllis love me ! Love me ! I shall be lost without 
my mother.” 

He sprang to his feet excitedly. “ I must be going 
or I shall be left. If I could have you with me ! ” He 
clung to her, trembling. “ It will be horrible — that 
long journey ! Darling, I am as weak as a child. 
Good-bye, good-bye.” 

He kissed her liurriedly, almost wildly, and made 
such haste she could not say another word. She 
wanted to go with him to the train that she might see 
and comfort him so long as possible. She wanted to 
make sure he had suitably provided for the hurried 
journey, but he was already running for a car, and had 
swung himself aboard and was out of sight, before she 
could collect her thoughts. 

She looked wistfully after him from the steps, then 
suddenly aware of her tearful face, at which passing 
pedestrians were looking curiously, she turned in with 
a sick feeling, and stood in the little hall to calm her- 
self before breaking the sad news to her family. It 
had hurt her cruelly to find she had been a source of 
sorrow to her generous lover. That one half-uncon- 
scious little remark had shown her his heart, and the 
sight of it was wringing her own. 

“ I knew it wasn’t right ! ” she murmured penitently. 
“ But it was so pleasant. Ah ! to think my foolishness 
has given him pain. I cannot forgive myself.” 

Two hours later, subdued and pale, she was ushered 
by the butler up the broad stairway of the manufac- 
turer’s superb mansion to the morning room, where she 
found Mrs. Erlacken, shrouded in an immense studio 


COMPUNCTIONS. 


149 


apron, before an easel upon which a small canvas was 
stretched. 

“ Come right in,” she called, hardly looking up. 
“ The fever is on me and I can’t stop. Find the easiest 
chair, take off your things, and talk all you like, but 
until I get this head sketched in don’t expect more 
than a grunt for answer.” 

Phyllis smiled feebly, and sat down, but the words 
did not come readily. She watched the rapid, nervous 
movements of the other in absolute silence for a while, 
and there grew upon her consciousness a slight, but 
pleasant, sound in the room, like a low, sibilant whistle. 

“ What is that ? ” she asked idl3^ “ That soft little 
purr? ” 

“ The kettle. I’m going to make tea in a minute. I 
always have tea when I paint ; it quells nervousness. 
The samovar is behind that screen. Take off your 
wraps and be ready. I’m almost through.” 

Phyllis mechanically unbuttoned her jacket, and 
threw it to one side. 

“ I won’t take off my hat,” she said, as she slowly 
drew off her gloves. “ How lovely this room is, and 
how rapidly you sketch ! ” 

There was a sort of “ M-m ! ” from the easel, but no 
other answer, and Phyllis sank back into her luxurious 
chair and rocked geiitljq with a dreamy sense of com- 
fort mingled with the sharper feeling of pain and grief. 

“ Who is it sa3"s ‘ money is a cushion that eases all 
pangs ? ’ ” she thought. “ I must own I am fond of it. 
I like all this beauty and grace and color, however I 
may decry it. It seems native to me, if it isn’t.” 

“ You are very entertaining this morning,” grumbled 


150 


BUBBLES. 


lier hostess. “ What makes you look so pale ? She 
had looked around for the first time, and stopped with 
her brush suspended in air to ask the question. 

We have had sad news,” Phyllis answered gently. 
“ The mother of my friend Mr. Kingsley is dangerously 
ill. He came to tell me, and say good-bye, and I never 
saw him'so unnerved. He took the 11.15 train west.” 

“ That is sad. I have not heard you speak of Mr. 
Kingsley before. An old friend of the family ? ” 

Mrs. Erlacken was carefully wiping her brushes, her 
frowning gaze fixed upon the canvas, and her head a 
little on one side at a critical angle. Evidently the 
outlines were not entirely to her mind. She did not 
look at Phyllis, so presuraabl}^ missed her deep blush. 

“ No — no, not so very old, Mrs. Erlacken,” with 
sudden bravery. “ I expect to marrj^ him in a few 
weeks.” 

“ Oh — h ! ” The prolonged sound was almost a 
whistle, and the lady faced about Avith a rapid move- 
ment. “Why didn’t you tell us before ? Where has 
he been all these weeks? Doesn’t he live here ? ” 

“ Yes, but has no time for society. That is what I 
came to talk about — that is what is troubling me — only 
I didn’t know how to begin.” 

“Don’t begin. Take the middle of it; that’s my 
way. But wait, now, till Pve made the tea, and we’ll 
be comfortable over it. This is 1113 ^ only lunch. Mr. 
Erlacken doesn’t come home at noon, and the babies 
either come down and eat their bread and milk with 
me, or stay in the nursery. We’ll leave them there to- 
day. When they’re down it’s all frolic and no con- 
versation.” 


COMPUNCTIONS. 


151 


There were two of these babies, Harold three, and 
baby Caryl a few months old. They were beautiful 
children and their mother, in her own way, was con- 
scientiously fond of them. But they had never yet 
superseded all other interests in her life. She had 
moments when she frankly avowed they were not 
wanted, and in Phyllis’s several visits she had only 
caught an occasional glimpse of them. Mrs. Erlacken 
had a fashion of saying that no household should be 
“ swamped in babies,” and no one was ever hushed or 
stifled because of the two in her large commodious 
nursery on the top floor. Having set aside the screen 
standing across one corner, she now disclosed a small 
round table laid with a tiny tea service, and quite over- 
topped b}^ a massive samovar of burnished copper, its 
kettle sending up a cloud of steam. 

She touched an electric button in the side wall and 
gave the white-capped maid, who soon appeared, alow- 
toned order, then said cheerily, 

“ Draw your chair nearer, child, and we’ll be close and 
cozy. I love to hear sad things over the cups; tea and 
sentiment go together.” 

As she bustled about, the butler appeared with a 
laden waiter. 

“ Set it down here,” said his mistress, “ and that will 
do. Don’t let us be disturbed for an hour, at least.” 
As the man bowed and disappeared, she added gently, 
“ Don’t think me heartless for saying that about sad 
things. I believe it sounded so. John tells me I say 
very cruel things at times, but I don’t mean to. Now 
go on.” 

She had placed at the girl’s elbow a plateful of hot 


152 


BUBBLES. 


scones, and a dainty pat of butter, to eat with her 
steaming tea, and as Phyllis prepared one of the deli- 
cate rounds, she said slowly, 

“ I received your invitation this morning, and am 
sincerely grateful and pleased. I sat down to reply 
and then I — I found myself out of i)aper ” — laughing a 
little — “-so thought it would be as easy, and much 
pleasanter, to come and say it as to go clear down town 
for more. I had just started when I met Anson — Mr. 
Kingsley. He was so ghastly white ! He went back 
with me and told me, and I waited then till he had to 
go. I feel his trouble keenly. If you will excuse me, 
dear Mrs. Erlacken, I must decline your invitation this 
time.” 

The lady nodded understandingly. 

“ I am sorry, but under the circumstances I cannot 
urge you to come. Besides, you won’t miss much, for 
it is to be a rather formal affair. I shall enjoy much 
better having you dine with us en famille some even- 
ing, soon, and there will be no impropriety then.” 

“Yes, but — it is not all a question of propriety, at 
least in the way you mean. It is that I came to talk 
about. You were surprised to learn of my engagement 
and yet — you had never asked me. Now, let me hasten 
to tell you that I have also a father and mother, a 
beautiful young married sister, two more wee sisters, 
and a boy brother, all of whom I love dearly.” 

“ Wliat a family ! And are you much younger than 
your married sister?” 

“No, she is nothing but a girl herself, a girl who 
loves fun and company as well as I. She is Mrs. 
Romayne Matteson.” 


COMPUNCTIONS. 


153 


“Ah, is she? I have heard of lier. I had no idea 
she was your sister; you are very unlike. Young 
Matteson is quite a swell, I understand — a club man, 
isn’t he ? I think the McVeighs know his people ; nice 
family, too ! ” 

“Y^es. And — and Mrs. Erlacken, it is Marjorie who 
ought to be where I am. She would care for it, enjoy 
it, grace it so much better than I, and I cannot feel it 
is fair for me to have all these lovely times without 
her. As for Anson, he doesn’t care, in that way, but 
he misses me. It takes me out of his life. Please 
don’t think me tiresome, but I must explain a little. 
His father had reverses and left but little, and that 
Anson passed right over to his mother, of whom he is 
extremely fond. She insisted upon helping him through 
college, but since then he is making his way alone. He 
is with a law firm and doing passably, and I am not 
afraid to trust my future with him. But you can see 
what it must be, dear friend. We can aspire to nothing 
better than a little flat, where I must be my own maid, 
and where company or social functions will be out of 
the question for either of us. I hardly know how I 
got into things as I have lately, but when I did, all by 
accident, I was a bit bewildered and fascinated. I did 
not stop to think, and I have offended Marjorie, and 
left Anson hurt and lonely. Dear Mrs. Erlacken, I 
must say good-bye to you and Honor Carson — you two 
are the ones I care for — and go back into my own little 
world across tlie gulf. Yours is brilliant and beautiful, 
but mine has love and many comforts. If you ever 
want to come to me (but why should you?) we will 
make you welcome, but I had better not cross to you. 


154 


BUBBLES. 


I am safer and liappier on my own side. You surely 
understand me.” 

The hostess was slowly buttering herself a scone. 

“I am trying to,” she said thoughtfully. “But I 
think you make too much of it all. Gulf indeed! 
Why should there be? You are young, bright, enter- 
taining. , People like to meet you. They don’t care to 
ferret out your antecedents; they leave that to Boston- 
ians and Anglomaniacs. Society here simply asks an 
equivalent of some kind ; you must contribute your 
share, and you do. It does not ask you to entertain, 
only to come and be entertaining. That is all.” 

“I know,” said Phyllis. “ Thank you for the implied 
compliment. It wants me while I can amuse it. But 
there are those who want me always, bright or dull, sick 
or well, young or old. Mrs. Erlacken, I must choose 
between the two, and I choose my own familiar friends. 
Only — I wish you and Honor could be of the number.” 

The lady laughed maliciously. 

“ Fleshpots, my dear I Better give us all up at one 
fell swoop. But what will you do if we won’t be given 
up? The fact is, you are making mountains out of 
molehills. I am not society, nor Honor either, and 
the very small glimpse you have taken into our life 
ought not to scare you so. Has there been anything 
so very improper, or difficult? ” 

Phyllis felt, from her tone, that Mrs. Erlacken was 
not exactly pleased, and grew decidedly uncomfortable 
in consequence. 

“ She thinks me silly and presuming,” she thought, 
nearly choking over her tea, “and I don’t know that I 
wonder. But how can I say it in any other way ? ” 


COMPUNCTIONS. 


155 


“ As to society, I don’t care for it, myself,” continued 
her hostess in a ruminating tone, gazing meditatively 
into her cup of delft, “ and I should really enjoy visit- 
ing in a flat occasionally, if I was wanted.” She threw 
Phyllis a comical look of wounded innocence, but went 
on before she could interrupt. “I should, of course, 
expect to help with the dishes — I suppose you will 
W'ash your own dishes ? Grandmother gave me an 
elegant housekeeper’s manual, or something, on my 
last birthday, and it is extremely suggestive and enter- 
taining. I’ve looked it over several times, and wished 
I could try some of the things it recommends, but 
my cook is so cross I don’t dare do it. For instance, it 
tells just how to clean pig’s feet and get any quantity 
of things to eat from them. Only think, pig’s feet ! 
The idea really fascinates me by its repulsiveness. 
And then, there’s a chapter about cleaning the wood- 
shed and attic. It reads so smoothly, and tells in such 
fine language about the cedar chests and presses, and 
describes so airily just how to dispose of old tins and 
rags and rubbers, that I have been wishing ever since 
for a wood-shed and an attic, just for the fun of putting 
them in order. And the chapters on ‘ How to live well 
on $600 a year.’ Those hold me enthralled ! I should 
certainly try it, if John would let me. I’ll tell you, 
Phyllis, you must take my manual and study that 
chapter. Only §600 is too much for just a couple of 
you ; Pm sure it provides for four people in my book. 
You’ll have to cut it down to $350, I think, to make it 
come out right, and even then you’ll have to be wildly 
extravagant — according to the manual — to spend so 
much ! ” 


156 


BUBBLES. 


Both laughed at this nonsense, and the tension was 
lightened. But Phyllis did not try to say more on the 
subject, for she felt, instinctively, that Mrs. Erlacken 
could not, or would not, understand. Caprice had led 
her always, caprice backed by amplest means. If it 
now led her to making much of a girl who was not in 
her circle,' why should she object ? All she had to do 
was to accept her good fortune and be as charming as 
possible. As to her sister and friends, why should they 
be concerned in the matter ? She certainly could not 
expect to lug in her whole family. 

So Phyllis read her hostess, whether justly or no we 
may discover later, and though she went home excused 
from the dinner, she felt sadl}^ that all pleasures bear 
thorns in the end, and that not even agreeable people 
are always sympathetic and comprehending. 

“I wonder if I am odd,” she thought weariedly. 
“ Sometimes I wish I were more like others, and not so 
full of questions and worries. Tliey seem to take 
what comes without looking back or forward, while I 
have to weigh and select with care. Yet, is it not this 
part of me that Anson most loves and trusts ? ” 


CHAPTER XVL 


THE PRICE OF A GOWN. 

It may, and may not have been because of this talk 
that a card was left by Mrs. Erlacken at Marjorie’s 
new home, and later an invitation to an evening re- 
ception. Marjorie’s heart bounded as she read the few 
magic words which seemed to her imagination an 
“ Open Sesame ” to paradise. The cruelty of the Mc- 
Veighs had been hard to bear, but their taking up of 
Phyllis, while scorning herself, was quite intolerable. 
She now felt she could snap her fingers in their faces, 
each and all. Mrs. Erlacken’s social throne over- 
topped their own, if anything, and evidently her friend- 
ship for Phyllis had proved staunch enough to include 
her family. This might have been somewhat humili- 
ating, but Marjorie gave it little thought. Was not 
the door opened at last? It was all she had asked. 
Once inside that long forbidden ground she would 
make her own way — never fear ! 

But she wondered if Phyllis had said anything. She 
knew her sister was not given to hints and suggestions; 
if she had spoken at all it was in an out and out fashion, 
and Marjorie understood that would not be easy for the 
reticent girl. 

“ After all she is a dear child, and I have been too 
cross with her,” she told herself in her great satis- 
faction, and resolved to make it up to her in future. 

157 


158 


BUBBLES. 


But she soon forgot her sister in far more important 
thoughts, to her. What should she wear ? 

It was a great and absorbing question that taxed her 
brain to the uttermost, and she had thrown herself 
back in a lounging chair, the better to give her wdiole 
mind to it, when the maid appeared at the door with an 
apologetic; “ If you please, madam,” and broke the con- 
nection. She was a smart maid in the regulation cap 
and apron, and felt her full dignity as one who com- 
manded the best wages in high-class families. That 
these were not always forthcoming in the Matteson 
household may have increased the pertness of her man- 
ner, here. She said now, with an indescribable air of 
disapproval, 

“ There’s a person below to see you, Mrs. Matte - 
son, and she insists upon it. She says it’s business.” 

“ How stupid ! ” said Marjorie, sitting upright, with 
a yawn. “Couldn’t you have told her I was resting?” 

“ I did, but she wouldn’t listen to nothing. She said 
she had to see you, and she should sit there till she did, 
and she’s plumped herself down in the meed-evil chair 
and there she stays.” 

“ In that? Dear me ! ” cried the young matron, for 
this new mediaeval hall chair was the apple of her eye. 
“ You’d better go back and watch her. She may be a 
sneak thief. I’ll be down at once.” 

Marjorie soon descended, and with an exaggerated 
air of languor, approached the “ person ” in the hall, 
who rose solemnly to greet her. She was tall, thin, 
careworn and bony. She looked, somehow, as if she 
had been kept moving so constantly she had found no 
time to take on flesh. Mrs. Matteson felt at once that 


THE PRICE OF A GOWK 


159 


she was neither a thief, nor professional beggar. She 
stopped just without the curtains, whicli separated 
the square hall from the drawing-room, and bade her 
a cool “ good morning,” wondering what her business 
could be. 

“ Are you Mrs. Matteson ? ” asked the woman 
abruptly in a cracked, querulous voice, as if successive 
colds, never quite cured, had spoiled its quality. 

“I am,” answered Marjorie smoothly, but with im- 
pressive dignity. 

“Well, I’m Mis’ Grierson, and I’ve come for my 
money.” 

“Money?” repeated Marjorie vaguely. 

“ Yes, my fifty dollars. I was meaning to put it in 
the bank, and Mr. Matteson, he said he’d give me bet- 
ter int’rust, and pay wheniver I was wanting it. I’m 
the lady what clanes his office. I’ve been savin’ of it 
by day’s worruks to pay toward an instermunt fer 
Tilly. She’s allers been after wantin’ an instermunt, 
Tilly has. She’s took to music. She manes to learn 
and give lessons and be a lady. I’ve got to make a 
payment right away — ’twas due the first o’ May, an’ I 
want my money.” 

“ Why don’t you go to Mr. Matteson ? ” asked his 
young wife calmly. 

“I’ve went and went. I’m allers put off. He ain’t 
in, or he’s busy, or he hasn’t got it now but he’ll have 
it to-morrer, or else the dure does be locked intirely. 
I’ve got to have it and I want you to get it fer me. I 
kin see’t he’s jest hedgin’ ’m. I’ve got to have it, or 
I’ll lose the instermunt, and Tilly can’t I’arn. ’Twould 
come nigh to killin’ her not to hev it now, and I’d lose 


160 


BUBBLES. 


all I’ve put into it afore, an’ tliet’s nigli to fort}' 
dollars. I must have the money to pay on Tilly’s in- 
stermunt ! ” 

“ Do you mean a piano? ” asked Marjorie. 

“No — blissid saints! no. I’d niver be thinkin’ o’ 
thet. A norgan ’m, an’ this would most finish the pay- 
mints ’m.** Ah ! bliss yer purty face now, but ye’ll 
make him pay me, won’t ye ’m? Only see all the 
ilegant things about you, and I don’t ask for nothing 
fer myself. I’ve wore this old shawl till it’s a perfect 
rag, as you see ’m, only to give Tilly the chance to 
I’arn. And she’s thet bright and quick — ha I ha ! ef 
you could see her make thim kays rattle ! Ah, sure, 
and it’s the swate ways you have, ’m, and how could a 
man refuse you an’ you asked, ’m ? ” 

“ Mr. Matteson will pay you, of course ; but how 
foolish to buy an organ. You don’t suppose she can 
learn to be a music teacher on that, do you ? ” 

The woman turned upon her with a wild look. 

“ L’arn ? She’ll I’arn like the wind ! She’ll niver 
have to worruk like her poor mother. Tilly ’ll be a 
lady. She’s pretty ’m — as pretty as you, barrin’ the 
fine feathers, ’m — and ef I kape out o’ sight nobody’ll 
know she ain’t a lady born. I’ve dug and scrubbed t6 
kape her in the school, and now it’s jest to pay up fer 
the instermunt and then I kin draw a long breath. 
’Twas thet big int’rust timpted me. But it’s the fifth 
now, and I’ve got to make the paymint. You won’t 
fail o’ getting it fer me, mum ? ” 

There was such intensity of appeal in her toil-worn 
face that even cool Marjorie was touched to pity, 
though she struggled against the emotion by telling 


THE PE ICE OF A GOWH. 


161 


herself the woman was an idiot to expect her daughter 
could ever make anything of a musical education ac- 
quired by haphazard methods, on a second-class “ in- 
stermunt ” of that nature. She said slowly, “ I’ll get it 
for you, certainly, but perhaps not to-day. Mr. Matte- 
son has had heavy bills to meet lately, and ” 

“Oh ’m, do, do try your best! He couldn’t be re- 
fusin’ you. And I must have it to-morrer. If the man 
comes again and I can’t pay he’ll take it away, and the 
likes o’ thet would be breakin’ Tilly’s heart. Oh, whin 
you have iver y thing ^ can’t you spare a pore woman her 
own fifty dollars ? ” 

The poor face worked grotesquely as she sobbed out 
these words. It seemed as if she had forgotten how to 
weep easily, and no tears came now. Yet Marjorie felt 
as if she were both crying and wringing her hands, so 
filled with anguish was that homely visage. 

“ There, there ! ” she said quickly. “ Don’t feel so. 
We wouldn’t wrong you for the world. I’ll see that 
you get your money. Go home in peace, and come 
again early to-morrow morning ” 

“ At siven, ’m ? I go to worruk thin.” 

“ Why no, we’re not up so early as that.” 

“ Thin it’ll hev to be noon, ’m. I’ll do without my 
dinner. I won’t mind, and lucky it is I won’t be 
workin’ so very far off — not more’n siven or eight 
blocks, ’m. I’ll be cornin’ at prompt noon. Hiven 
bliss you now I I knowed you was good whin I see 
you. Now I kin face Tilly again I She axes me ivery 
night, ‘ have I got it,’ and I hes to tell her ‘ no,’ but to- 
night ” 

Still talking in an ecstasy of happiness, she went 
11 


162 


BUBBLES. 


down the steps, looking back once at Marjorie standing 
in the doorway, much as a devout Catholic will look 
back at the shrine before which he has knelt in prayer 
and thanksgiving. The latter, feeling uncomfortable 
enough, hastily went inside and closed the door. 

“ Romayne must pay her,” she told herself, but even 
as she said it she wondered how, for he had told her 
more than once these last few days that he “ hadn’t a 
cent.” 

She went through the pretty drawing-room, whose 
rugs and hangings always soothed her with their rich- 
ness, to the smaller room beyond, where a grate fire 
was burning cheerily. It was all new, fashionable, 
almost “ ilegant,” indeed, as the woman had said. It 
had given her immense satisfaction for a time, while 
her friends were calling and admiring, but she was 
getting more used to it now, and there had been one or 
two disagreeable scenes over the handsomer articles of 
furniture, when the bills came in, that had spoiled them 
for her. She thought, with bitterness, as she looked 
around, the woman’s sharp, insistent voice still ringing 
in her ears, that it was hard she could not have pretty 
things and enjo}’’ them without a care, or a thought of 
ways and means, as did some of her friends. 

“ I do think Romayne might manage his affairs bet- 
ter,” she muttered. “It’s a shame for me to be tor- 
mented with such matters. All I ask is to live de- 
cently. Why, I haven’t had but two new hats this 
winter. Nellie Prentice has had four, and every one 
cost more than any of mine ever do. I’ve retrimmed 
and made over and got along anyhow. He ought to 
have married some girls I know.” 


THE PRICE OF A GOWN. 


163 


She stopped suddenly, half way across the room. 
How could she ever prevail upon Romayne to pay the 
woman, and also buy the new gown she had determined 
upon for tlie reception ? A flush dyed her face, then 
receded, leaving her almost pale. She must have the 
gown. There was nothing in her wardrobe suitable for 
such an occasion. She had virtuously resolved to be 
intensely economical about it, seeking out bargains in 
materials, and doing part of the making herself, but 
even then, how much would it cost? 

She gave an impatient sigh and turned herself un- 
easily about. The woman had been so ugly, so repul- 
sive, so foolish — yet something in her earnestness had 
taken possession of Marjorie’s sympathies. She could 
not forget her grotesque, anguished face, her querulous 
gestures, her bent, awkward body. 

Between her mind’s eye, and the vision of her own 
loveliness floating in delicate crepe de Chine and lace, 
stalked this other figure, tragic and ungainly. It would 
not leave her in peace. 

Romayne, coming at the twilight hour, was, and was 
not a relief. It roused her, but only as the blare of 
trumpets rouses the soldier sleeping uneasily upon his 
arms ; the dreadful anticipation was now to be reality. 
She must present the woman’s just claim, or her own 
— could she venture upon both ? 

“ Well, what news?” she asked brightly as he en- 
tered, for, to Marjorie’s credit be it said, she was not 
given to sulky silences, and was nearly as soon over a 
tiff as Romayne himself, therefore they generally met 
as friends, whatever the parting might have been. 

An intimate friend once said of the two that they 


164 


BUBBLES. 


had “ an infinite capacity for falling out and in again,” 
and in truth, though their quarrels were often fierce 
they never seemed to be final. 

“Oh, nothing — nothing at all,” said her husband, 
flinging his gloves upon the table, and approaching the 
fire. “ It’s as dull as ditch-water. How chilly it keeps 
for May I' Anything happened here? ” 

“ Yes, I’ll tell you after dinner. There comes Emma 
to announce it.” 

The maid appeared in the doorway, starched and 
trim. 

“ Mrs. Matteson is served,” she announced pomp- 
ously, and Marjorie felt, as always, that even a dinner 
of sawdust would be dignified by this little ceremony. 

She daily congratulated herself upon having a maid 
who “knew how to do things,” and told herself and 
Romayne that the round price they had to pay this su- 
perior article was not to be considered before such ex- 
cellence. 

It was truly a very different repast from that other 
in the little flat when Phyllis had assisted, and Ro- 
mayne had been fain to satisfy his hunger with bread 
and fruit. 

The present mdnu of four courses was well cooked 
and admirably served, and Romayne never felt like 
complaining over the expense, when at table. They 
talked on commonplace topics until the dessert ap- 
peared, and Emma with the plates disappeared, then 
Marjorie said in as quiet a voice as she could assume, 
“ By the way, we have a bid to Mrs. Erlacken’s recep- 
tion next week.” 

“We have? ” looking up quickly from his pudding. 


THE PRICE OF A GOWN. 


165 


“ Yes. You know she left her card here the other 
day. Shall we go ? ’’ 

“Humph! You’d faint away if I said no.” 

“Well, you won’t say it,” laughed Marjorie, “any 
more than I. I am so glad you have a dress suit! You 
won’t need a thing, will you ? ” 

“ I hope not. And will you wear that light silk? ” 

“My blue and steel? Heavens! What are you 
thinking of, Romayne ? I have worn it everywhere. 
It is positively soiled, I must have an evening dress — 
a crepe, or chiffon over silk, or something. I haven’t a 
gown that’s fit.” 

“Phew-w! I’m afraid we shall have to give it up, 
then. Business is so dull we can’t make a cent, and 
the way we have been spending is positively frightful. 
I must keep a few dollars ahead for contingences — and 
it will be few indeed.” 

“ I will be obliged to have the dress, if I go,” said 
Marjorie firmly, and even with the words a high, 
cracked voice rang in her ears, “ I’ve got to have the 
money, or lose the instermunt,” and though slie tried to 
thrust it back till its turn came, it clamored so persist- 
ently she felt Romayne must hear it also. Yet how 
useless to present the two claims now. 

“ How much money have you left in the bank ? ” she 
asked. 

“In the bank?” He laughed amusedly. “Not a 
cent! Haven’t I told you? But Archer owes me 
sixty, and he’s going to pay up when he gets his next 
remittance. I tell you he is well healed; five thousand 
on interest is a real help. Wish I had it.” 

“ And how much do we owe ? ” faltered Marjorie. 


1G6 


B UBBLES, 


“Oh, what’s the use of going into that now, pet? 
Why do you w^aiit to spoil a good dinner for a fellow ? 
There’s nothing pressing — that is,” his face clouded 
over, “there is, too. I’m being hounded by one credi- 
tor, but she — great Scott ! what made you bring that 
all up, Marjie? I do wish I could get away from un- 
pleasantness in my own home, at least.” 

His rising petulance warned his wife to desist for the 
present, and she adroitly changed the subject. Later 
some friends came in, and the evening passed merrily 
enough. Marjorie managed in her own lady-like way 
to let the fact of her important invitation be known, 
and Mrs. Prentice, a gay young widow whose deepest 
thought found anchorage in a new costume, at once 
cried out, 

“ Oh, do tell us what you are to wear ! Something 
new and awfully chic, of course. You must be launched 
into swelldom on the topmost wave of good style, my 
dear.” 

“ So she must,” cried Romayne, good-naturedly. “ We 
were talking about that at dinner, and Marjie seemed to 
think some of these new fluffy French materials would 
be the thing. What do you think, Mrs. Prentice? You 
have such good taste in these matters.” 

“ Oh, thanks — awfully ! As if I could compare with 
your wife in that respect. Just give her carte blanche 
at Draper’s, and you need not worry further. She’ll be 
a dream.” 

“Yes, that’s the only way, Matteson,” laughed a 
young Benedict, with a wink at his wife. “ Shut your 
eyes and mouth, and open your purse — or credit. I’ve 
learned that much in two short months, at any rate.” 


THE TRICE OF A GOWN, 


167 


“ How glad I am to hear it, Harry ! ” retorted the 
bride. “I shall know just how to manage in fu- 
ture.” 

So, amid merry badinage, Marjorie’s costume was 
chosen and planned. After the otliers had left she laid 
a light, caressing hand upon her husband’s arm. 

“Did you mean it, dear? May I have the silk and 
chiffon?” 

“ Oh, I suppose you must, child. It won’t do to make 
a fizzle of your first appearance. But I don’t dare ask 
more credit ajb Draper’s till I’ve paid something on those 
hangings. And Marjie, do let this be the last, for 
seriously I have not the face to ask Aunt Mabel for 
any more this spring.” 

“ But the business ” began Marjorie. 

“Bah! The business hasn’t even begun to get on 
its legs yet.” 

The young wife did not ask any more questions. She 
did not care to go into details. What she wanted was 
the money. It was not pleasant to know it came 
hardly. She would not think of that as, in a glow of 
anticipation and pleasure, she prepared herself for the 
night. 

“ Yes, I will be a dream I ” she told herself, with a 
thrill of vanity and self-appreciation, as she gazed into 
her mirror and noticed the brilliant eyes and fair flushed 
cheeks which so enhanced her beauty. 

But when the lights were out and her head had 
sought the pillow, she suddenly remembered a homely, 
anguished face, she heard once more a wild thready 
voice, “You will get me the money, sure? Oh I whin 
you have ivery thing can’t you spare a pore woman her 


168 


BUBBLES. 


own fifty dollars?” and she sat up again feeling as if 
summoned to judgment. 

Then impatiently she caught up her pillow and shook 
it as if it had been alive, and as she doggedly laid her- 
self down again Romayne muttered drowsil}^ 

“ You really must stop drinking coffee at night, 
Marjie ; it always makes you wakeful.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 


BROKEN FAITH. 

Marjorie rose, next morning, unrefreshed. Life 
seemed hard and stupid, while the beauty of the early 
spring morning was not for her. The dread of that 
poor woman overshadowed all the May sunshine, and 
changed the bird-calls in the little park across the way 
' into querulous wails of appeal. Twice, during break- 
fast, she tried to approach the subject, but while mak- 
ing up her mind some remark of Romayne’s gladly 
switched her to a side track, and when he said, as he 
rose from table, 

“ I’ll probably get that money of Archer to-morrow, 
and I guess if we pay thirty or forty dollars on account 
they’ll let you have the goods,” — she simply could not 
jeopardize her only chance for a gown by mentioning 
poor Mrs. Grierson’s claim. 

Yet, as she watched her husband down the steps, her 
heart ached with an almost physical pain for the wom- 
an’s disappointment. 

“ Oh ! why can’t everybody be well off and comfort- 
able ? ” she cried, flinging herself down in a heap upon 
the divan. “ If I had made this world I would have 
left poverty out ! ” 

Ah ! weak, vain, beautiful Marjorie. Yet, in your 
own little world you could not refrain from pauperizing 
those with whom you came in contact, and that without 
truly enriching yourself. 


169 


170 


BUBBLES. 


At length she sprang to her feet. 

“ ril have to run away ! ” she cried excitedly. “ I 
never can meet her in the world. I’ll go down and 
select my materials, and see when Madame Tulle can 
cut and fit it. That is all I shall have her do. I will 
get Miss Bobbin to make it, and help with every stitch 
myself. ' She can sew neatly, if she cannot plan, and I 
know just how I want it. Did ever a poor girl have to 
scrimp and save as I do ? ” 

In self-pity she hurriedly dressed and went out, say- 
ing to her maid, “ I shall not be home for luncheon, and 
you can take the day out till time for dinner, if you 
like, but be sure and lock up well,” at which Miss Emma 
forgot her dignity, and was really profuse in thanks. 

Marjorie did not wait to hear them. 

“I can’t have that poor creature pouring out her 
troubles to Emma,” she thought, hurrying down the 
steps as if pursued. “ How thankful I am we are in a 
detached house ! She might have roused the wliole 
building with her disappointment, if we were in the 
flat. Oh, I do feel sorry for her — I do, I do ! ” 

Yet, at a quarter past twelve Marjorie sat before one 
of the dainty lunch tables in a down -town restaurant, 
chatting with two friends, and sipping her frozen pud- 
ding unconcernedly, while a woman who had been toil- 
ing exhaustively for hours, and was now foregoing her 
one chance of a warm meal that day, went up the steps 
of the pretty new home. 

She was breathing hardly from her hurried walk, but 
her face was full of happy expectation as she touched 
the electric button, as if thus she meant to summon joy. 
There was no response, and she rang again — a third 


BROKEN FAITH. 


171 


time, the light gradually fading out of her plain face, 
till it was set in a grey pallor. 

At length a wilder look came into it, and she caught 
her breath in gasps as she wheeled, ran down the steps, 
and sought the rear entrance, waiting and watching 
outside the closed door in deepest suspense. No re- 
sponse, and the face, toil-marked but never tear-stained, 
for indulgence in tears means the luxury of leisure, be- 
gan working in its grotesque fashion. 

“Ah, God in heaven ! She’s cheated me. She’s lied 
to me. Oh ! curse her — No, no, no, I musn’t ! Mebbe 
it’s all a mistake — mebbe she’s asleep, now, or run out 
to a neighbor’s, or something. Mebbe that stuck-up 
hired help o’ hers is after thinkin’ I’m a beggar, and 
won’t come to let me in. And it’s my own money. I 
earned it cent by cent. Oh, blissid Mary, don’t you go 
back on another poor mother what loves her child bet- 
ter nor her life ! Ave Mary, have pity on me ! ” 

The words were whispered rapidly, madly, through 
her shut teeth, as she made the sign of the cross upon 
brow and breast, gazing over the unresponsive house front 
as if she must compel assistance from its emptiness. A 
policeman, sauntering by, stopped to watch her suspi- 
ciously, and as she ran frenziedly, and tried to peer into 
an uncurtained window, making strange gestures the 
while, and muttering audibly, he called out in a sharp 
voice, 

“ Here, you ! What you doing there ? Get out o’ 
this, and go about your business, or I’ll march you 
double quick to the station house.” 

She looked at him without answering as she came 
slowly street-wards. Her eyes were set and stony, her 


172 


BUBBLES. 


lips moving rapidly, her face working in a way he 
thought both horrible and peculiar. He looked after 
her as she crept away, bent, shrunken, cowed. 

“I guess she’s off, sure enough,” he muttered to 
himself. “ I took her for a sneak thief at first, but she 
ain’t, I can see. But poor thing, she’s as crazy as a 
loon ! Well, I can’t help it as I know ; I ain’t around 
here in the interests of no insane as3dum,” and he 
marched on again. 

Yet something in that face had stirred him strangely, 
and he found it hard to forget a grief that seemed to 
impress itself upon one’s brain, if not one’s heart. 

It happened this was one of Phyllis’s afternoons 
with Sukey and the lace darning. She had heard al- 
most immediately from Anson, upon his arrival at his 
mother’s bedside, and the word was that the dear 
woman still lived, but was entirely unconscious of her 
surroundings. From that report the daily bulletins 
had altered little. She hovered still between life and 
death, and the fever would now doubtless run its 
course of weeks, before the crisis. 

He begged Phyllis to go on with her preparations as 
before — their marriage had been set for the sixth of 
June — as he could not even consider any change of 
plan in all this grief and turmoil. 

So Phyllis sewed busily and dreamily at home, tak- 
ing her bit of lingerie out under the one tree in the back 
yard whenever the weather would permit, while Jean 
and baby Fay rolled merrily about on an old rug at her 
feet. She also sought every opportunity of adding to 
the modest little sum she was hoarding for the two 
gowns which she had resolved to buy at the last minute, 


BROKEN FAITH. 


173 


that the rapid changes of fashion might not make them 
outre before she could have them ready. This was to 
please Marjorie, who had deigned to interest herself in 
these details, though more languidly than would once 
have been the case. 

A more hopeful letter from Anson, that morning, 
made her heart light, and the balmy breath of the May 
day seemed to steep her senses in peace, as she walked 
cheerily to her humble occupation, envying nobody in 
her young content and hopefulness. 

Old Sukey’s greeting was warm. She was very fond 
of the girl — so fond that even the prospect of going 
back to “ Ole Virginny ” with her dear Miss Alice and 
little Missy when their visit, unduly prolonged by busi- 
ness matters, had ended, was half shadowed by the 
thought of leaving her behind. Sukey’s old heart had 
as many tendrils as any white woman’s — possibly more 
— and these clung to her kind Miss Phylly with a lov- 
ing clasp. 

She was most considerate of the girl, keeping her al- 
ways in the inner of her two wee rooms, which she 
carefully shut off by the connecting door when any one 
knocked upon the outer one. As she expressed it to 
herself, she “ wa’n’t gowine to hab no sassings of her 
Miss Phylly jest ’cause she choosed to do a bit o’ fine 
work for de wimmins ’at wa’n’t fitten to tie up her lit- 
tle shoes, even,” and few knew what was so jealously 
guarded in that homely little boudoir, with its calico 
cushions and draperies. 

But they had not been sitting long, to-day, when 
without announcement a woman broke in — a tall, gaunt, 
thin woman, with a wild look, who dropped into a chair 


174 


BUBBLES. 


with an air of utter exhaustion, and cried out, seeing 
no one else, 

“ Oh, Sukey, Sukey, it’s kilt I am, intirely ! I didn’t 
get it. They was all gone off, and the house was like 
a stone to my poundin’ and pushin’. She cheated me 
— the wicked, fair-faced girl she is ! She lied to. me. 
She let me come the long, long way all out o’ breath, 
and kep’ her dures locked on me, and the p’liceman 
hollered to me to move on, ’cause I was that wild I 
tried to look inter the windy. I couldn’t work any 
more ; I throwed up my job. What’s the use? What’s 
the use ? It’s all gone, an’ I must tell Tilly. I might 
as well give up and we go to the workus together. 
Ochone ! Ochone ! the evil day it is.” 

She was rocking herself to and fro on the hard chair she 
had sunk into, and her voice rose and fell in a real Irish 
wail. Phyllis had dropped the lace fichu upon which 
she was at work, the price of which would have meant 
months of comfort to this harassed mother, and was 
looking at her with pity and a certain repulsion in her 
face, while Sukey stood by with upraised hands, ejacu- 
lating her hearty sympathy in her soft broken dialect. 

“What is it?” asked Phyllis of her, at length. 
“ What has happened to the poor thing? ” 

Sukey rapidly related the pathetic, but too common, 
story whose development had been daily brought to her 
sympathetic ears, but without giving the name of the 
recreant couple, which indeed she did not even remem- 
ber. It shocked Phyllis in a peculiar manner. She 
had, all her life, seen the other side of the picture — 
her mother turning away workwomen with sleek prom- 
ises, or sharply reproving them for saucy insistence. 


BROKEN FAITH. 


175 


But to-day, for tlie first time, slie saw the obverse of 
the picture, the torn and bruised canvas of a work- 
woman’s breaking heart, and she shrank and shivered 
as if she alone were to blame. 

“ Oh, I have never thought — I have never under- 
stood ! ” she murmured. “ To work so hard, and be 
denied one’s just claims. We pay our store bills for 
fear of losing our credit, but these poor creatures who 
cannot strike back — ah ! how cruel, and unjust we are.” 

“ Bress yo’ heart. Miss Philly, ’tain’t any of you uns 
done it,” cried Sukey, surprised at her young lady’s 
emotion, and believing her lips were speaking the truth. 
“ It’s some o’ them vain, dressy young creeturs what 
don’ care for noting so’t dey gits on some fine clo’es, 
an’ rings, an’ fings, to shine out on de street wid. You 
wouldn’t neber hurt a pore woman, brack or white.” 

“Not intentionally — no indeed! But I have been 
criminally thoughtless. I could often have done with- 
out, and saved some workwoman from this trouble, had 
I realized. How much is the amount?” she asked, 
turning gently to Mrs. Grierson, who had scarcely 
seemed to notice the former talk, held in low tones, as 
she still crossed herself and muttered her short, mo- 
notonous prayers. 

She looked up now, and noted the fair, friendly face. 

“ Ah, bliss yore kind heart. Miss, it’s fifty dollars. I 
earned ivery cent with the scrubbing brush on me two 
knees. ’Twas fer my Tilly. She’s your own age, Miss, 
and as pretty as yourself, wid the music in her like a 
bird. But I’ll niver get it, niver. They do be slippery 
as eels, them kind, Miss ! They’re fair wid their prom- 
ises, and soft as soap, but they niver pays. And if I 


176 


BUBBLES. 


tuk the law on him ’twoiikl be costing me twicet as 
much. Ah I but this worruld is hard on the poor, my 
little lady.” 

“ Fifty dollars ! ” Phyllis gasped a little. She had 
been hoping she could help the poor creature, but this 
sum staggered her. It was more than two-thirds of all 
her little savings, out of which must be found those 
garments' positively required in even a modest bridal 
outfit. It seemed impossible to spare it. 

She wondered who the people were, saying to her- 
self that she knew the exact type. Overdressed, a 
little vulgar, and doubtless more careless than cruel. 
Underneath might be good qualities, however, and per- 
haps if they knew all the circumstances they would 
have been juster in their treatment. She began to 
wonder, vagueljs if a word from herself might not go 
further than the perhaps annoying persistency of this 
poor creature, and was wondering if she would dare to 
interfere, when it occurred to her to look up and ask 
abruptly, 

“ What are their names, did you say?” 

“ Matteson, 'm — ^young merried folks on Elm street. 
They put on a deal of style, too, but I guess they don’t 
be havin’ much to back it,” bitterly. “You wouldn’t 
think such soft spoken folks could be so bad I ” 

Phyllis’s face was scarlet. Matteson ? Elm street ? 
There could be no mistake. Full well she knew, when 
she would let herself acknowledge it, the cold careless- 
ness of both. She felt too shamed and indignant to 
speak. She had excused them to her mother, to her- 
self, but they stood too clearly revealed now. She 
could never see them quite in the same light again. 


BROKEN FAITH. 


177 


After an instant’s hesitation she said slowly, in a choked 
voice, 

“ Tell me, would any less sum satisfy this agent to- 
day, and save your organ? Name the least you think 
he would be quieted with. I have a little money with 
me, and — and I can get you more to-morrow. Would 
ten dollars help you any ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, yes my dear ! ’Twould stave him off, I’m 

sure, but it do be a shame to throuble you. Miss ” 

“ Yes, it is a shame ! ” cried Sukey indignantly. 
“She ain’t real rich herse’f. Mis’ Gri’son. Dat is to 
say ” — The good woman trembled between her desire 
to save Phyllis’s pocketbook and her reputation — ” 
she don’ allers hab a right sma’t ob change jes’ whah 

she kin put her ban’s on it when ” 

“ Never mind, Sukey. I am not rich at all, as we 
both know, but I have saved a little, and it is right for 
me to use it now. You don’t exactly understand, but 
— but these people are friends of mine, and when they 
know all they will doubtless pay me back. This poor 
mother,” her voice was growing firmer — '‘'‘must have 
her money, whatever happens. It is only right and 
just.” 

She emptied her all too slender purse into the won- 
dering woman’s hand, in spite of Sukey ’s mutterings 
of protestation, then making some excuse hurried away, 
feeling she should break down and utterly disgrace 
herself, if she delayed another minute. 


12 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


MAEJOEIE IS LAUNCHED. 

MaejoHie returned late that afternoon, still in a 
glow of excitement, her gown an assured fact, for she 
had seen Romayne at the office, received the money, 
paid it on account at Draper’s, and been graciously al- 
lowed to pick out her new goods. She was assisted in 
the arduous task of choosing materials by Mrs. Pren- 
tice, whom she had met accidentally at the great dry- 
goods house, and we may be certain the selection lacked 
nothing in price because of this lady’s advice. 

Nellie Prentice hated “ cheap things,” especially 
when her friends were buying them. She knew how 
to cover any lack in her own costumes with a taste and 
resource that amounted to genius, and it was with the 
assured feeling that she was irreproachable in dress, 
herself, that she ventured to direct Marjorie’s purchases 
to-day. And, though the latter sometimes wondered 
what Romayne would say when he learned the awful 
total, she grew reckless under the bitter-sweet of 
Nellie’s tongue, which could sting so sharply while 
seeming to be steeped in honey. 

Yet, after all, it had been a day entirely to Mrs. 
Matteson’s taste, in which she had felt wealthy, what- 
ever the sad reality ; and, the important selection made, 
she was now in a triumphant glow, as of a good deed 
safely accomplished. She left Mrs. Prentice in the car 
178 


MARJORIE IS LAUNCHED. 


179 


at the corner, that lady’s home being further out, and 
turned into her own street. The first sight of her 
house — the new, pretty house with its window ledges 
of unhewn stone and its great clear panes, that always 
seemed smiling at her in aristocratic excellence, struck 
a chill to her senses, for it recalled that woman. 

“ Did she come ? ” thought Marjorie. “How did she 
act? Poor thing! I do hope she did nothing notice- 
able.” 

Some of the neighbors’ children were racing their 
wheels up and down the Portland walk in front, and 
she was half tempted to ask them if they had seen any- 
body, then thought it the part of wisdom to keep still. 
But one little girl called out, 

“ Oh I Mrs. Matteson, our Sarah says a woman came 
about noon, and you were all away so she couldn’t get 
in. And she rang and rang, and then she tried to look 
into the back window, and a policeman came along and 
hollered to her to go away, and she went. We asked 
your maid if anything was stolen, but she said there 
wasn’t.” 

“ Indeed,” said Marjorie listlessly. “ How did she 
look?” 

“ Sarah said she looked tired and cross. She was 
horrid, she said, and she thought she probably wanted 
a chance to steal. Do you s’pose she really was a 
thief?” 

The word made Marjorie wince. Who was the real 
thief in the case? Yet, what a ridiculous idea ! She 
— Marjorie Matteson — beautiful, prosperous, just about 
riding into the haven of success upon a high social 
wave ; she a thief ! 


180 


BUBBLES. 


She shook off the thought as if it were a gnat that 
had stung her, and hastened inside, avoiding even the 
children’s curious glances and questions^ nor did she 
seek out Emma to make inquiries. She wanted to hear 
no more of this hideous female. Only, who knew when 
she might pounce down upon them again with that 
ugly, anguished face and that cracked wail ? 

“ I can’t help it ! ” she told herself desperately, shut- 
ting her lips in a hard line, while she removed her 
wraps in the square hall, and threw them down upon 
the leather-cushioned seat beneath the first landing of 
the ornate stairway, “ I have my gown, thank the 
stars ! and now let Romayne and this creature fight it 
out between them. I wash my hands of the whole 
matter.” 

So said a ruler named Pilate on a certain memorable 
occasion, nearly twenty centuries ago, but did that 
make them the cleaner, think you ? 

Phyllis did not go to see Marjorie for a few daj^s, nor 
did she happen to meet her at home, but she heard of 
the invitation and of the new gown, and she could 
easily surmise what had been her temptation to a sin 
which had struck to her own soul as a most dastardly 
one. Yet much as she condemned did she excuse, for 
knowing her sister’s vanity, and the triumph this was 
to be for her, she could understand how impossible it 
had seemed to be just, with such stress of self-denial. 
For Phyllis had a pair of those happily constructed 
soul-eyes which can see on all sides of a matter, and so 
grow pitiful and comprehending, rather than uncom- 
promising and stony. 

She had given Mrs. Grierson thirty dollars, and 


MARJORIE IS LAUNCIIEI). 


181 


promised her the rest, though this meant actual poverty 
in her bridal outfit. But she told herself firmly it was 
the only thing to do. 

“ I must simply give it and trust. Somehow, I can- 
not feel that God will let me suffer for this wrong, but 
if it must be so, better that I should bear it, young and 
strong as I am, than that poor woman.” And, the 
money gone, she did not fling envious thoughts, like 
grappling hooks, after it to wish it back, but set herself 
resolutely to earning a double share, if possible, and 
was glad to find that the anticipated reception, which 
was a grand evening affair, brought extra work and 
money to her, while giving Marjorie the opportunity 
she had craved so long. 

The letters from Anson grew daily more hopeful. 
His mother had endured so much, had resisted the dis- 
ease so long, she must now turn the crisis safely. It 
would be but a few days, now. 

“ Oh, Phyllis, pray for me, love me ! ” were the clos- 
ing words of his last short, breathless letter, which 
seemed written between gasps of hope and despair. 

She had been replying in a long loving missive the 
same day, when she heard Marjorie’s voice below, 
sounding blithely, as of old. She rather shrank from 
meeting her, but told herself, while she sealed and 
stamped the letter, that the time must come, and the 
sooner the better. So she started slowly downward, 
thinking how strange it was to feel thus toward her 
own dear sister. It made her flush with a sort of re- 
morseful shame, for the sensitive often feel the faults 
of those they love more deeply than do the sinners 
themselves. 


182 


BUBBLES. 


She found her sitting with tlie mother in deep con- 
sultation over a weighty matter. Should her long 
gloves match the delicate tint of her chiffon draperies, 
or be of white ? The fashion books said white with 
everything, but that pale shade of heliotrope was so 
delicate and pretty ! 

“ What do you think, Phyl ? ” and Marjorie turned 
to her with all the old affection and interest. 

Ph3dlis warmed to it — she could not help it. Her 
sister was so fair, so sweet, when she chose to be, and 
Phyllis was so fond of her ! After all, was there not 
some excuse, with such fairness, for vanity ? and put- 
ting back her own grave thoughts she entered into the 
rapid (I had almost written that vapid !) talk of gloves 
and wraps and flowers with real interest and excellent 
suggestions, generously offering everything available 
from her own modest supply in a way that should have 
made Marjorie ashamed — but did not. Why should 
not her family and friends give her of their best ? 

The night of the reception proved a social triumph 
for Marjorie. Phyllis was not there to see it, having 
rigidly secluded herself since Anson’s departure, but 
Romayne saw, and was jubilant. Admiration had al- 
ways entered largely into his love for his wife, and this 
was fully gratified to-night. Marjorie, in her airy, ex- 
quisite costume was simply unapproachable. Pier 
eyes were like stars in their splendor, her complexion 
that of a flower just bloomed out, her arms and 
shoulders moulded like a bit of flue marble, her figure 
lissome and graceful as bending wheat. She was be- 
yond all question beautiful, and the homage we all give 
too willingly to physical perfection was hers, that night. 


MARJORIE IS LAUNCHED. 


183 


She came, saw, was seen, and coiiqueved. Again and 
again Mrs. Erlacken was congratulated upon introduc- 
ing this charming young creature into her social world. 
The Misses McVeigh looked on with supercilious 
smiles, powerless to stem the tide. Honor Carson with 
hearty admiration, ready to help it onward, Mrs. 
Erlacken with quizzical glances and a reserved judg- 
ment, while all those who had formerly tolerated 
Marjorie, forming a precarious sort of bridge between 
her lower sphere and their own, now flocked around 
her, claiming intimate friendship. 

The fair young matron understood, and thoroughly 
appreciated it all ; accepted it, too, with the calm and 
worldly philosophy which in her answered for tender- 
ness. She could meet this false and hollow favor with 
perfect sweetness, in spite of inner hatred, ignoring all 
former slights as if they had never been. In a word 
she had the make -up of a consummate woman of the 
world, and as she had herself said, only needed launch- 
ing to sail the high seas at her pleasure. 

She had not been in Mrs. Erlacken’s drawing-rooms 
a half-hour before she knew she had conquered this 
social spheroid, which had so long floated just beyond 
her reach, and could now hold it in the hollow of her 
hand, and the assurance of this gave her an aplomb, a 
calm dignity, a careless ease of manner that in general 
belongs only to the middle aged mondaine, who has ac- 
quired it through many scars of battle. Yes, Marjorie 
had triumphed. 

She had the good sense to retire early from the field, 
while she would be missed and called for, and when she 
and her husband stood in their own apartment at home. 


184 


BUBBLES. 


face to face, she looked into his eyes, her own full of a 
merry pride, and said in a suggestive tone, “Well, 
Romayne ? ” 

She stood smoothing out her long gloves (they 
matched her chiffon perfectly) and folding them care- 
fully in their scented wrappings, and after that one 
bright glance kept her head modestly lowered. Her 
attitude was grace itself, and the young husband’s eyes 
kindled as he watched her. 

“Well, darling,” he returned exultantly, “crow if 
you like ! I can’t blame you. Instead, I’ll mount a 
rung higher and give an extra shout. There isn’t a 
doubt in anyone’s mind, least of all my own, that you 
were the sensation of the evening.” 

“ Yes, I was.” She said it calmly, almost judicially, 
and just as she would have spoken of some one else, 
“And I do not think there has been a greater in years. 
If we were rich, Romayne, we could rule society at our 
will.” 

“ You could, you mean ; I disclaim all honors ; I 
simply stood by and wondered. But where on earth 
you picked up that princess manner I cannot imagine. 
One would have said you were nursed in courts and 
pillowed on a throne.” 

She laughed softl3\ 

“And you don’t begrudge me the gown?” looking 
down upon its mist-like folds with real affection. 

“ I begrudge nothing, only— it’s a little strange, but 
my most importunate creditor has let up on me for a 
week, or so. If she doesn’t begin to hound me again, 
poor creature ! ” He stopped with a sigh. 

Marjorie was slipping her dress waist into a pillow- 


MARJORIE IS LAUNCHED. 


185 


case, preparatory to hanging it away, and did not an- 
swer, though ordinarily she would have been ready 
enough with comment and question, and after a moment 
he went on in a tone more thoughtful than his wont. 

“ You see she is very poor and works hard, and she 
wanted it at once to help her daughter on in some way — 
music I think. Of course ’twas a ridiculous idea in her 
position, but it’s all the same thing, only some pegs 
lower down — a longing to be lifted up, to get into a 
higher notch. It’s universal. Marjie” — his eyes gazed 
at her dreamily, dilating a little. “ What’s that verse, 
something about being ‘ lifted up to be a ransom for 
many ? ’ Well, it isn’t that kind.” 

He laughed in a hard way as he sank back into an 
easy chair, and Marjorie, emerging from her retreat, 
looked at him amazedly. 

“ Were you speaking, Romajme ? ” she asked in a 
sweetly flippant tone which brought a blush to his 
cheek. 

“Something spoke,” he returned bluntly, “but I 
don’t think it was I.” 

“ No, it must have been the ghost of some dead an- 
cestor, and not the French count either. Are you pre- 
paring to sit up all night? You look discouragingly 
wide-awake.” 

“ No. But Marjie, that poor wretch haunts me. It 
^W^ just the same. Hers is unselfish, at least. I wish 
I could pay her ! ” 

“ I wish you could, dear. But don’t, for goodness’ 
sake, light another cigar to-night. It’s well toward 
morning now. And Romayne, did you never notice 
that when one rises one must step on something? It’s 


186 


BUBBLES, 


a law of nature. We didn’t make the law, but we do 
have to use the steps. Look out ! You are stepping 
on my lace handkerchief. Now, don’t begin walking 
up and down, and do let’s stop talking, and get a wink 
of sleep.” 

Her voice Avas cool and hard. Already she seemed 
years older. She had certainly begun her strange 
climbing that would lead to the summit of the preci- 
pice, and for stepping stones she evidently meant to 
use whatever offered. If human hearts were crushed 
by her dainty feet, what matter ? That Riry eminence 
must be reached, and they should not get in her way. 

But once she cried out sharply in her sleep, and mut- 
tered “ Oh no, no, don’t ! ” She had dreamed that 
Mrs. Grierson was cursing her from the summit of a 
mountain in that same high, cracked voice, and that 
Tilly, a vague outline floating on a cloud, was about to 
open a vial of Avrath upon her head, amid tlie lurid 
light of a conflagration that was to consume the world. 

It Avas long after day dawn when she saAV this ter- 
rible vision, and at that moment Phyllis, just arisen, 
was reading a night message from Anson Avith a burst 
of happy tears — 

“ Rejoice Avith me ! The crisis is past and mother 
better.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 


THE KINGSLEYS, MOTHER AND SON. 

Mrs. Kingsley’s recovery was rapid, and she returned 
with her son in early June, to be in season for the wed- 
ding. Her meeting with her prospective daughter-in- 
law, when the latter hastened to call, was cordial in the 
extreme. She was quite prepared to be fond of the 
girl who had shown such interest in her, as well as de- 
votion to her son. They had met but once before, and 
that for only a hurried moment on the street, and really 
had to begin their acquaintance anew. 

Mrs. Kingsley was a small woman, with a crown of 
white hair above a pair of soft, beautiful eyes. She 
also had had the rare good fortune to preserve a fine 
set of teeth intact, and these, with a really girlish 
dimple in one cheek, gave her a lovely expression when 
she smiled. She had been in her teens when Anson 
was born, and was still a comparatively young woman, 
with a heart that could never grow old. Her white 
hair, which had turned before she was thirty, was ex- 
tremely becoming, and did not seem to add a day to 
her age. She held Phyllis close a moment in a warm 
embrace. 

“ My dear, I am overjoyed to see you ! ” she said in a 
rich voice that held a thrill in its depths. “ You have 
become very dear to me through your charming letters 
that helped so largely to lighten my convalescence, and 

187 


188 


BUBBLES, 


through Anson’s talk of you. We have worn many a 
twilight hour into deep night on this one exhaustless 
topic.” 

“ Oh, I hope he did not say too much ! Undue praise 
always defeats its object, I fear. And, you know, Anson 
is certainly prejudiced.” 

‘‘I hope so, child,” laughing softly, “for your sake 
at least. Perhaps I am, too.” 

The words were a subtle compliment and greatly 
pleased the girl. She flushed prettily, and hastened to 
change the subject. 

“Neither you, nor Anson, look so worn as I had 
feared. You really have a color, and he is as bright as 
ever.” 

“Yes, we both rallied quickly — it is our way. Then 
he shone and scintillated anew with every mile that 
brought him back to you, and I had to reflect his splen- 
dor. I am so glad you were both sensible, and did not 
interrupt the preparations. Are you all ready now, 
dear ? ” 

“ Yes, all I can be.” Phyllis was blushing still more 
warmly. “ Where there is little to do with, the prepa- 
rations are soon made. Dear Mrs. Kingsley” — in a sud- 
den burst of confidence — “I come almost like the ‘beg- 
gar maid’ for clothing. We have a large family, and I 
would not call on papa, who thought I had plenty saved 
up, so, as he mistook, I have just kept still and done 
without. I shall be decent, of course, but that is about 
all.” 

“You never could be anything else, my child, and 
this emboldens me to say to you what I have already 
hinted to Anson. I have a strong desire to see you 


THE KINGSLEYS, MOTHER AND SON. 


189 


wear my wedding gown. Would you be so good? • Let 
me tell you about it. It is a plain white satin, almost 
untrimmed, and its pointed bodice and flowing skirt 
would not be far out of style ; it would only need new 
sleeves, and I have a few yards left over for those. 
There is the veil also, both just as I laid them away for 
my prospective daughter, twenty-four years ago. You 
are she, Phyllis. Would you wear them to please me?” 

Phyllis felt the tears close. She was deeply touched 
and pleased. By constant effort she had compassed all 
but a wedding dress, and was slowly making up her 
mind to be married in her street costume, though she 
had a girlish longing for bridal white, intensified by 
Anson’s plainly expressed wish in that direction. 

But she had paid Romayne’s debt in full, and had 
never yet spoken to either about it. She felt she ought 
— she must, indeed — but the right time had never come. 
They were in a whirl of social gaiety, now, and their 
expenses, she knew, must bo largely increased. Ro- 
mayne said business was “looking up,” but she felt it 
would need a more than eagle flight to meet their new 
ways of living. So she had rather do without than 
trouble them at present, and it was more for Anson’s 
sake than her own that she had been annoyed. For 
she knew his preference for a real bridal toilet, though 
it was to be but a quiet home wedding with few guests. 

She felt as if her trustfulness in the greater justice, 
which controls even lesser matters, had been rewarded 
now. It would be simply perfect to wear Anson’s 
mother’s gown. 

She showed her pleasure vividly, and it was most 
gratifying to Mrs. Kingsley. 


' 190 


BUBBLES. 


“ It is delightful that you, too, like the idea ! ” she 
cried. “ Come, let me show it to you now. You know 
my father was a wealth}^ man when I married, and I 
had carte blanche. But I was always plain in my 
tastes. However, I think you will find no fault with 
the materials.” 

Fault indeed ! Phyllis almost gasped at their rich- 
ness. The satin of the gown was such as is seldom 
seen in these days of shoddy material, soft as velvet, 
but rich and thick enough to stand alone, and of that 
rare, perfect ivory tint, so matchlessl}^ becoming to a 
fresh, ruddy complexion like that of Phyllis. Then 
the veil was a frosted steam cloud for fineness, and so 
voluminous and long ! She did not try to say much, 
but her shining eyes were expressive enough. 

“ They do please you? I am so glad! And I’m sure 
the dress will fit, you are so near my height. Would 
you like to try it on, now?” 

Phyllis was quite willing, and Mrs. Kingsley noted 
with satisfaction the evidences of dainty care in all the 
girl’s belongings, as she prepared to don it. 

“ She is worthy of my gown ! ” thought the matron, 
as she gently lifted the skirt over the bent chestnut 
head. 

When the prospective bride was fully arrayed the 
satisfaction of both was complete. The change of a 
seam, or two, would make the fit perfect, and the plain 
unadorned richness of the garment just suited Phyllis. 
Her rosy face, peering from the airy folds of that 
gossamer net, had never looked sweeter. Obeying her 
impulse, Mrs. Kingsley bent forward and kissed her lips. 

“ My dear — my daughter I ” she whispered. “ I am 


THE KINGSLEYS, MOTHER AND SON. 


191 


glad Anson loves yon. I have hungered for a sweet 
girl-child all married life, and you have come to 
gratify me. I want to marry you, too, dear.” 

Both laughed at the quaint conceit, and both winked 
away an irrepressible tear from their lashes as they 
laughed, but the love that sprang to life in that moment 
of tender confidence was never to cease in after life. 
They were truly mother and daughter then, though the 
wedding might never be. But let me hasten to assure 
you the wedding was to come off as planned, and al- 
ready the invitations were out. 

Mabel Olney received those for herself and mother, 
and also a personal letter from the girl who had so at- 
tracted her, which pleased her till she felt all that old 
longing to know her better fully revived. 

She knew, however, that she must not leave her 
mother, who was much feebler than when we last saw 
her, and an idea came to her with pleasant suggestions. 

“ I will invite them here,” she said briskly, talking 
to herself in the way women do who are much alone, 
“ that is, if mother is willing. I should really enjoy 
it, and it would arouse us all from our dlillness. In- 
stead of a costly gift I will send some pretty trifle, and 
invite them for a fortnight. It is so fresh and lovely 
here in June, and the}^ can have the hammock out under 
the great oak, and be as lazy and as happy as they 
please.” 

As Mrs. Olney offered no objection, this idea was at 
once acted upon, and met with decided favor in the 
city. The young couple had not expected to take a 
trip, Anson’s expenses having been heavy of late, but 
this would give them a delightful outing at a nominal 


192 


B UBBLES. 


charge, for the pretty home of Fairhaven was not far 
out, by rail. 

Romayne urged it heartily. He was always gener- 
ous when it cost himself nothing, Marjorie thought it 
“just the thing,” the Olneys, pere and mbre, were 
pleased by the attention to their daughter, and Mrs. 
Kingsley, after reading the letter of invitation and 
hearing Phyllis’s description of Miss Olney, said slowly, 

“ I think she sincerely wishes it, and it will give you 
a delightful outing. Yes, I’d go.” 

Anson demurred a trifle. He had been away from 
business a long while, already, but it was the dull sea- 
son, and his employers said a week or two more would 
not matter, so all was left to Phyllis, who was entirely 
ready to send her acceptance. So she wrote her full 
thanks and pleasure, and began to look forward with 
real delight to that fortnight in the quiet country town 
with Anson, for her life had scarcely known a change 
from city sights and streets, except for an occasional 
visit to park, or suburb, through all her young experi- 
ence. 

The “ trifle ” of a gift duly arrived by express, and 
proved to be an exquisite etching, most artistically 
framed, which had long lain in a certain portfolio at the 
homestead, since the deceased owner had gratified cer- 
tain natural artistic longings by starting a collection. 
It was none the less valuable because it had only cost 
Mabel its quaint setting, and it charmed the senses of 
Phyllis, who wiis an admirer of genuine beauty in 
whatever form. 

“It will be so restful to gaze at after a quarrel ! ” 
she remarked mischievously to Anson, as they stood 


THE KINGSLEYS, 3I0THER AND SON. 


193 


looking at it together one morning, just before tlie 
happy event. “ See how the peace of the fair summer’s 
day broods over it all. How can one express so much 
in black and white ? ” 

“Because the ink is mixed with brains, as the great 
painter said, dear. But, when we do quarrel, I shall 
claim your undivided attention, and now that you have 
warned me, shall begin every such seance by turning that 
picture to the wall. Phyl,” earnestly, “ do 3^011 suppose 
we ever will?” 

“ What, quarrel? Don’t every couple? You have a 
strong will and so have I. Do you suppose they will 
never clash ? ” 

“ Yet I know people who say they never have — that’s 
what your old friends Mr. and Mrs. Burbank claim, 
that they never had a word of difference. Haven’t you 
heard the old man quaver it out again and again ? ” 

“Yes, and almost despised him for it!” retorted 
Phyllis, with spirit. “ You’ve only to look at both to 
see the reason. He is meekness personified, simpl}^ her 
echo in everything, and they never quarrel because he 
always gives up. Then there are the Carters, just the 
other way. Mrs. Carter once told mother she had not 
bought herself so much as a spool of thread for forty 
years. He selects everything — why, he even tells her 
what color of hose she shall wear I Do you suppose 
I’d ever stand that, Anson Kingsley?” 

He laughed consumedly, and deftly touched her up a 
little more. 

“ I might give way on hosiery, but your hats and 
gowns I shall certainly consider it my privilege to 
select for you. I’m very particular in the matter of 
13 


194 


BUBBLES. 


hats ” — he could not tell a poke from a Gainsborough — 
“ and I sometimes think you are not — well, fortunate 
always in selecting yours. Now something red, say, or 
purple ” 

Phyllis gave him an excited glance, quivering with 
horror. “ Red — purple — with my complexion ! You 
are certainly crazy, Anson. No, thank you. So long 
as I possess a particle of common sense I shall dress 
myself as I please. You don’t even know what red and 
purple are, I veril}^ believe.” 

“Do, too !” cried Anson indignantly. “The ideal 
Just try me and see.” 

“ Very well,” calmly, “ what is the color of that sofa 
pillow, then ? ” 

He looked at it a moment, squinting in a connoisseur- 
ish way, then rose and walked closer, as if short- 
sighted. He felt a bit uncertain, but understood he 
must be impressive. He ransacked his brain for names 
of shades that he had heard, and finally gave a nod of 
great satisfaction. 

“That pillow? H’m ! Why, that” — turning and 
seating himself again with an air of finality, — “ that is 
scarlet.” 

Phyllis broke into triumphant laughter. It was a 
delicate green. She tried him again with a ribbon she 
wore, and less securely, but with admirable calmness, 
he answered, “ Why, that is yellow.” 

It w'as a rose pink. 

“ Oh, get out ! ” he cried ruefully, as she fairly jibed 
at him, “I don’t believe you know, yourself. You just 
call them so to outwit me, and who’s to decide which 
is riglit, pray ? ” 


THE KINGSLEYS, MOTHER AND SON. 


195 


She opened the door amid her laughter, and called 
“Jean ! Jean ! ” The child came presently, hugging a 
kitten in her arms. 

“Well, I never knew you to want me before, when 
you were together,” she remarked placidly, to the keen 
delight of Anson and the consternation of his fiancee. 
“ What is it? ” 

But Phyllis did not feel so much like laughing now. 
She said severely, 

“ Jean you are a naughty, saucy child ! I wanted to 
ask you what color that cushion is ? ” 

“ Green,” said the little girl promptly. 

“ And this ribbon? ” 

“ Pink — the color of roses. I wish you’d give it to 
me, Phyl — it’s too bright for you.” 

“Well perhaps I will soon. There! You see, 
Anson.” 

“ Yes, you have her well instructed,” he answered in 
that superior man -tone that is so tantalizing. “ But all 
these things are entirely arbitrary, of course. There 
really isn’t any color, you understand — not as a fixed 
fact — and these shades are liable to change, even to 
your accurate eye, at an instant’s notice. If I choose 
to make that a blue or yellow pillow, and this a purple 
or green ribbon, I could do so in an instant.” 

“ Anson, how absurd I You know you couldn’t.” 

“ I certainly could,” he averred pugnaciously. 

“ You couldn't ! Because they look so to your eyes 
doesn’t make them so, at all. You are simply color 
blind, as lots of men are, and can’t tell red from yellow, 
nor blue from green. It’s excessively silly to keep in- 
sisting so.” 


196 


BUBBLES. 


“Not at all,” with heat, “ because I am right. You 
are the silly one, as you would see, if you would stop 
to think a minute. If you had ever studied the laws 
of optics, or the spectrum ” 

He was interrupted by Jean, who had lingered in- 
side the door. Her eyes were wider open than usual, 
and her grandmotherly smile was spreading around her 
red lips. 

“Well, I should call this quarreling,” she remarked 
sententiously. 

It stopped him suddenly. He looked at Phyllis — a 
decidedly sheepish look — and she returned it in kind. 

“ I declare ! ” he muttered, and then both blushed 
scarlet and laughed together. 

“ And over such a foolish, ridiculous thing ! ” cried 
Phyllis. 

“ I should say so ! ” added Anson. 

“ Do you know, I’ve often heard that the bitterest 
feuds often grow out of a trifle ? ” said Phyllis remorse- 
fully. “ Of course I understand, now, that you meant 
by introducing or withdrawing certain rays a color 
will be entirely changed. Jean ! ” sharply, “ stop 
laughing and run away now. That’s all we need of 
you.” 

But Jean continued to laugh as she ran away. 

“Why did you send her off, love?” murmured An- 
son, and still inspired by the spirit of Tantalus he drew 
her closer and bent his full gaze upon her, more mis- 
chievous than, penitent, “Was it because you wanted 
to kiss and make up ? ” 


CHAPTER XX. 


WEDDED PAIRS. 

It was a brilliant day. Fairhaven lay bathed in sun- 
shine and steeped in calm. The great trees, in fullest 
leaf and freshest tint, swayed lightly in the warm, aro- 
matic breeze, and the close-cut lawn was richly shad- 
owed, and starred occasionally with yellow dandelions. 

Rachel, from her kitchen door, safely screened against 
intruding flies, eyed the latter with disfavor, mentally 
deciding to “take a knife to them weeds the fust spare, 
minute,” as she listened for the crunch of carriage 
wheels on the front drive, which should announce the 
expected guests. 

Rachel was as excited and eager as Mabel herself. 
She felt it a great thing to entertain a bridal pair, and 
was curious to see what “ she ” would wear, and how 
“he” would act. She secretly hoped they would be 
“awfully in love,” and not hesitate to show it. She 
felt this was reprehensible in herself, for such exhibi- 
tions would not be quite seemly before Miss Mabel 
who, to her, was still an innocent young maiden, but 
she did guiltily wish it, just the same. 

So, when they drove up in company with the latter, 
laughing and talking just like everyday people, and 
Phyllis without a touch of white about her, not even 
so much as a “ matched suit ” on, it was a distinct dis- 
appointment. Doubtless Rachel would have been better 
197 


198 


B UBBLES. 


pleased had she appeared in a wreath of flimsy artifi- 
cials and a tarletan veil floating above a plush gown, 
like the Polish brides who sometimes proudly paraded 
the village streets. Rachel, confirmed old maid that 
she was, distinctly liked things “ bridy.” 

“Well, I never! They seem just as careless,” she 
commejited, squinting through the crack of the back 
entry door. “ He let her walk in with her own parasol 
— and a black one at that — and she don’t seem to look 
at him much diff’runt from what she does at Miss 
Mabel, as I see. She’s a nice, fresh-appearin’ girl, but 
not a bit han’some, nor he neither, but they look our 
kind, somehow. I guess mebbe we’ll like ’em, but 
land ! they might’s well be brother and sister for all 
the way they act^ 

Yet later, when a trill of gay girlish laughter, ming- 
ling with a hearty bass, floated in from the veranda, 
with Mabel’s voice sounding clearly in the cadence, she 
smiled relentingly. 

“ Well, they’re real young, anyhow,” she commented, 
as she proceeded vigorously to beat up her waffles for 
supper, “and that’s suthin’.” 

It was a good deal, Mabel thought, as the evening 
sped lightly by with song and joke and laughter. She 
felt the years, slipping off her shoulders, one by one, 
and watched with satisfaction as her mother visibly 
brightened under this sunburst. Phyllis gave, or at- 
tempted to give, a fall account of the wedding in re- 
ply to the questions of both, but was worse than inter- 
rupted by Anson’s dry remarks. 

“We did not mean to go outside the family,” she 
explained, except for two or three old friends like the 


WEDDED PAIRS. 


199 


Burbanks, and Romayne’s partner and his wife, and some 
girl friends. But when Mrs. Erlacken asked me plump 
and square, if she and John were not going to receive 

a card, and I tried to explain ” 

“ By which she means that she endeavored, for the 
third or fourth time, to teach Mrs. Erlacken that we 
move in an entirely different social orbit,” murmured 
Anson 

“As we certainly do,” insisted Phyllis. “I — where 
was I?” 

“ Still explaining, my dear.” 

“ Oh yes — I had to send them one because she just 
calmly insisted that she should come, anyhow. And 
then there was Honor Carson, and her sweet mother, 
and good old Sukey. I wanted to have them all, but 

I was determined not to ask the McVeighs ” 

“ Knowing they would be sure to decline,” put in her 
husband — “except Terry, and I didn’t know how to 
plan it, but fortune favored me. The girls, with their 
mother, went to the seaside just about the time I sent 
out the cards, and the Carsons to Mrs. Erlacken ’s to 
finish off their visit — they go south, taking Sukey, to- 
day, and are going to summer in the Cumberlands — so 

I could invite them all with a clear conscience ” 

“ And no waste of stationery,” came the echo. 
Phyllis threw him a glance as she ran on, 

“And what do you think? Mrs. Erlacken sent us a 

case full of small table silver, all sterling ” 

“ Marked so, at least.” 

“ — All we shall ever need I’m sure, and the Carsons a 
little brass bound chest of table linen, the daintiest you 
ever saw, and Sukey persisted in doing up all my 


200 


BUBBLES, 


lingerie with her own hands, and yon can imagine how 
beautifully she made it look. But Terry ” 

She stopped to laugh, Anson joining in. 

“ 1 know that boy racked his brain day and night to 
think of something unique and fine — you see, he was 
alone with his father and the servants at home, and 
had no one to consult. He finally hit upon what, to 
him, was' perfection, I presume. Now, what do you 
suppose it was ? ” 

Mabel shook her head helplessly, and Mrs. Olney 
raised herself from the couch on one elbow, to listen. 

“ A basket of puppies ! ” she cried merrily. “ There 
were three ; one for each of us, and one for * manners,’ 
as he explained. They were pretty things, too — span- 
iels, you know — and he sent them in a padded basket, 
white-enamelled, the handle tied with long white satin 
ribbons, and his card, somewhat soiled, and with his 
compliments scrawled all over it, also tied on with 
lutestring. He followed the grinning messenger im- 
mediatel}^ for he could not wait to see my delight, and 
I had to be pleased ! We laughed and laughed, and I 
set the basket among the other gifts, and had Jean 
watch to see the creatures did not crawl out and upset 
some of the crystal and china.” 

Mrs. Olney indulged in such a peal of laughter as 
she had not attempted for months, and Mabel joined in 
as heartily, while Rachel seized the occasion to stalk 
solemnly in with a waiter full of glasses, and a pitcher 
of iced lemonade. 

“ I thought you might be thirsty by now,” she ob- 
served rebukingly, feeling for the first time rather left 
out. 


WEDDED FAIRS. 


201 


Rachel was like the old servant described by Balzac, 
who always said “ Nous.” She never separated herself 
from the family. It was as invariably “ we ” with her, 
also. Mabel understood the good creature perfectly, 
and said at once, 

“ Oh, I must tell Rachel I She always shares our 
good things,” and briefly repeated the puppy story, at 
which the woman forgot her momentary feeling of 
slight in chuekles of enjojniient. 

While she still lingered, in pretence of waiting on 
them, Anson told for her benefit another story, and 
won her heart completely. 

“ Terry’s present had its match,” he said in his pleas- 
ant bass voice, “ in one sent me by my good old laun- 
dress, who has kept my linen in order ever since I left 
college. She evidently wanted to send something that 
should be strictly for my own use, and yet should give 
pleasure and satisfaction to my wife, also. Can you 
imagine what she hit upon ? ” 

All made a try at a guess, mentioning everything per- 
taining to masculinity, from smoking caps to jack- 
knives, without hitting the mark. 

“ No,” he said gravely, “ she was far more ingenious 
than any of you. She managed to combine utility, or- 
namentation, and thrift, all in one article. Not only 
that, she in a sense touehed upon patriotism, for she 
chose that which has been set forth by foreign writers 
as truly emblematic of American life and manners.” 

“ She must have been a woman of unusual gifts for 
her station,” murmured Mrs. Olney, and Anson’s eyes 
twinkled with rapture. 

“ I think so, too. Upon the accompanying card she 


202 


BUBBLES. 


had written, ‘ For Mistur Kingsley, to kape her car- 
pets clane.’ Don’t you see how delicately she included 
my wife in a purely personal gift ? ” 

And, evidently enchanted with the idea, he leaned 
back and gave himself up to a riot of merriment. 

“ But what was the beautiful patriotic thing? ” asked 
Mabel. “A broom ? Did the witches of Salem make it 
so ? And how could you call that strictly personal — • 
what has a man to do with a broom ? ” 

“ Oh, but it wasn’t. Have you never read Max 
O’ReU? It was a 

Rachel ducked her head and, with a sputtering peal 
that she could not quite keep under with all her dig- 
nity, disappeared to have it out, while the rest pro- 
tested amid gasps of weariness. But there is nothing 
really harmful in clean fun and nonsense, and all were 
the better for it here. The Olneys greatly needed the 
stimulus of fresh minds and new ideas. They had 
grown musty and moody through close confinement and 
care, more than either had realized, and this mixture of 
youth and jollity was the polish needed to brighten 
them into vigorous, elastic life. 

The fortnight passed all too quickly, and they parted 
with mutual regrets, and promises of future visits to 
and fro, all feeling better for the pleasant intercourse. 

Anson and Phyllis were soon comfortably established 
in their little flat, where one room was furnished for 
“ mother,” but not occupied as yet. 

“No,” laughed Mrs. Kingsley. “I do not venture 
upon thin ice. I intend to finish my round of long- 
delayed visits, and leave you to yourselves for several 


WEDDED PAIRS. 


203 


months. Do you suppose I want to watch the harrow- 
ing process of your getting used to each other ? ” and 
no amount of coaxing could change her fixed resolve. 

They had been settled down in calm domestic com- 
fort but two, or three, months when an event occurred 
at the far more pretentious Matteson home that quite 
monopolized Phyllis for a time — their first baby came. 
He was a dear little fellow, lusty and strong, with a 
healthy capacity for colic and crying, and he taxed all 
their energies at first. 

Marjorie, who had kept up her fashionable dissipa- 
tion to the verge of culpability, did not quickly regain 
her strength. She was languid, and not enthusiastic 
over Master Baby. She could, indeed, have done very 
well without his somewhat unwelcome presence, and 
fretted childishly over her forced inaction. 

“ It’s the opening of the season, and everything com- 
ing on,” she pouted. “ I shall miss the Assembly, and 
opening night at the opera, and all the first parties, 
which are always the best. Who cares for those fade 
things everybody crowds in before Lent? Now every- 
thing is chic and lively, and all the gowns new. But 
here I must stay cooped up with this baby, who cries 
just for the fun of it, I do believe ! There is one thing 
— I shall have a nurse to help, and he shall have the 
bottle. I don’t propose to give up all that makes life 
worth living, just for a little red atom of humanity like 
that!” 

She looked down upon the wee down-covered head 
lying beside her with an expression that was half hu- 
morous, but wholly untender, while Phyllis looked at 
her and wondered. It seemed to her such a tremendous 


204 


BUBBLES. 


thing to have a human soul straight from God, to gently 
guide into a happy eternity. Could Marjorie be in 
earnest, or was it her way of talking without a 
meaning ? 

She meant something of it certainly, for the nurse 
duly arrived, a young, fresh-looking girl, and when 
Marjorie had put her into a cap and ruffled white apron, 
like a French bonne, and the baby into an expensive 
cab with a lace-covered parasol (bought on credit) she 
felt better, no doubt. It really looked quite patrician, 
and when the ladies called and told her how sweet and 
interesting she looked in her lounging robes, profusely 
beribboned and belaced, and how delicate her com- 
plexion had grown, she felt there were compensations 
for the ills of life, and ceased to complain. 

But Phyllis managed to come over daily, tie on an 
apron of generous proportions, and see that baby was 
properly bathed and fed ; and soon the little fellow 
learned to reach out impatient arms to “auntie,” to 
nestle lovingly against her tender breast, to look wist- 
fully up into her shining eyes, and to cry when she had 
to put him from her and return to her own big boy, 
who often felt neglected, these days. 

Marjorie thought herself a model mamma, and gave 
at least an hour each day (unless engagements were 
too pressing) to the child. Then, charmingly gowned 
and looking fair as some fragile summer flower, she 
hurried to join the gay throng again, throwing off all 
her languor in the stimulating society of her adorers. 

For Marjorie now freely copied foreign manners, and 
presumed upon the fact of husbandly protection to 
bask in the smiles and compliments of any idle milksop 


WEDDED PAIRS. 


205 


who chose to make her his temporary divinity. Not 
that she overstepped tlie actual bounds of decorum — 
she was far too shrewd for that, and too cold — she 
simply led men on to give her their regards, while she 
reserved her own for their one object — Marjorie Mat- 
teson. 

Yet many a poor girl, who has flung honor and 
chastity at the feet of the man she worshipped, must 
have been less guilty in the eyes of a just, discerning 
God than she. 


CHAPTER XXL 


THE LUST OF GOLD. 

All this time Romayne, though fairly successful in 
his new business, had only kept it going by repeated 
calls upon his aunt, until she, realizing that she must 
expect a demand about so often, made special arrange- 
ments to meet them, setting aside a certain portion of 
her income and persistently denying herself luxuries, 
to which she had so long been accustomed that they 
seemed almost like necessities now. She told herself it 
was for Maud’s sake, and patiently submitted, while no 
one guessed, unless it were watchful old Rachel, how 
differently she managed in regard^ to personal expend- 
iture. 

This ancient maiden, seeing cotton take the place of 
silk, one pair of gloves that of a box full, a stout p*air 
of walking boots the dainty footwear matching each 
costume, old hats freshened up again and again instead 
of being imported in all their fresh elegance from the 
metropolis, the former wealth of books and magazines 
narrowed down to the one or two her mother specially 
fancied, the fine monogram-headed stationery ex- 
changed for cheaper grades, and the choice bits of bric- 
a-brac and art work done away with entirely, some- 
times gnashed her infrequent teeth with rage. “It’s 
thet fine city chit he’s merried,” she told herself, being 
far too loyal to allow that an Olney could do wrong. 

206 


THE LUST OF GOLD. 


207 


But she dare not complain aloud, though Mabel often 
caught a word or two of her mutterings, and felt that, 
as usual, she surmised all. In fact, with time it 
became something of a comfort that she did know, for 
the faithful creature would never betray her secrets, 
she was certain, and true sympathy, if only expressed 
in grumblings, is precious. 

For if it is hard to make continuous sacrifices, it is 
almost intolerable when these are never appreciated. 

Thus the wheel of time turned slowly, often creak- 
ingly and rustily, for all, and one would have said 
brought little change. Yet each monfh established 
Anson Kingsley more firmly as a man of brain and 
brawn, who when better known, was always known for 
the better, while Phyllis kept step with him, shoulder 
to shoulder. 

But Romayne and Marjorie, though they had gay 
acquaintances, numbered few real friends among the 
number, and even these shrank, with a distrust they 
could not entirely conquer, from the young couple’s 
improvident and reckless use of friendship. It was as 
Marjorie had said — they felt obliged to tread on some- 
thing. But, few people care to help form a corduroy 
road of themselves, for the Juggernaut car of fashion 
to grind its merry way over their bones. 

Yet when either felt the sting of slights and cold- 
ness they turned upon each other to implant more 
stings, possibly on the old principle of “ like cures 
like.” 

Marjorie’s one balm for neglect, or snubs, was more 
money — always more money. She felt this was a 
golden salve which healed everything. Let her but 


208 


BUBBLES. 


have a chance to outshine these snobs, and she would 
ask nothing more of life. If she were not invited to 
some desirable social function, she feverishly longed to 
give one still more extravagant, and leave out the of- 
fending party in turn. The old law of blow for blow, 
and the last one the hardest, was the only one she 
recognized. 

But this course was expensive and she could not al- 
ways be gratified, so she took it out in revilings at her 
husband, and passionate protestations against their 
poverty, as she called it, though the present income of 
tlie Mattesons, independent of Mabel’s contributions, 
would have seemed ample to the Kingsleys. The latter 
were thoroughly comfortable and always ready to do 
and give, upon a third of the amount that left the 
Mattesons harassed with debts and shorn of all joy and 
peace. At times, this fact pressed home to Romayne’s 
consciousness so clearly he could but stop and think. 
Though as extravagant, he was not as worldly as his 
wife, and could gladly have let much go which she 
found a necessity of existence. Sometimes he spoke 
out, but to little purpose. 

“We live too fast, Marjie,” he said one night, after 
his romp with little Olney, of whom he was very fond. 
“We ought to begin laying by for the boy.” 

His gaze was following the child yearningly, as he 
was borne away, loudly protesting, in the nurse’s arms 
to bed. He had named the child for the family with 
some feeling that he might thus perpetuate some of 
those more sterling traits he had failed to appropriate. 
He was ambitious for the little one. He wanted he 
should be as true, as brave, as conscientious, as any 


THE LUST OF GOLD. 


209 


parent might have expected for his son who had shown 
these qualities himself. Men are apt to look to their 
children to redeem their own sins, rather than to per- 
petuate them after that stern old law, which has lasted 
through all the ages. “ The sins of the fathers upon 
the children, even to the third and fourth generation.” 

“ Bother ! ” was Marjorie’s careless answer. “ What’s 
the use ? You have made your way ; let him.” 

“ But if he should be left, a mere child ” 

“ What a gruesome idea ! Why, Phyllis would take 
him then, she’s so fond of him. I don’t worry over 
Olney, But when I think we are growing older every 
year, and what life might be — just think ! Never to 
have a carriage of our own. It’s abominable ! And I 
shall not die happy if I can’t, just once, crush that dis- 
gusting, pushing, detestably rich Mrs. Midas, by giving 
a finer ball than hers. Of course I can’t do it, we’re so 
horribly poor — actually destitute ! ” 

“ I wish you’d cut that talk, Marjorie. It’s outra- 
geous I We have every comfort and plenty of luxuries, 

I’m sure. If you could only ” 

“ Well, I can’t. And I hate to be poor, for it is 
poverty when you can’t have what you want. I’m 
tired to death of scrimping and planning, and trying to 
live as if we had twenty thousand a year when we 
don’t have twenty hundred.” 

“ That’s just it. If we could be content to live ” 

“ Don’t interrupt me with any such threadbare 
stupidity, Romayne Matteson. It’s simply to cover 
your own deficiences that you do it. For heaven’s 
sake, why don’t you get up and do something — make a 
big strike like other men ? ” 

14 


210 


BUBBLES. 


“Well, how? A man cannot double his capital 
when he hasn’t any capital to double,” gloomily. 

“Oh, I don’t care how,” with exasperation. “But 
I’d find some way, I can tell you, if I were a man. 
How one can sit down so supinely and ask ‘ how ’ is a 
mystery to me ! How do other men do ? Gamble ! 
Rob a bank ! Do anything, only get money. It’s the 
one oil that makes everything run easily. Only be a 
mammoth villain while you are about it — these small 
fellows always get caught in the net.” She laughed 
and, seeing the look on his face, ran on madly as she 
lay back in her chair, her eyes half shut, her lips tense, 
and her cheeks flushed with earnestness, veiled under 
this thin pretence of nonsense. “ I don’t wonder men 
are so often bribed in public life. I get to feeling 
sometimes that I would sell everything I have in other 
respects for real wealth, that which could be counted 
only with a long row of cyphers. Ah ! what couldn’t 
I make of life, then.” 

“ Marjorie ! You have no business to talk like that, 
even in exaggerated fooling. What if I took you at 
your word ? ” 

She rose languidly and began walking about the 
chamber, absently gathering up the evidences of little 
Olney’s frolic, while Romayne watched her with the 
strange feeling her friends were beginning to have, 
that these passionate utterances meant a great deal 
more than they dared to acknowledge. He noticed a 
sudden redness flash into her face, which may have 
come from her stooping to pick up a toy, but he felt an 
inward shudder of dread and horror, too vague to put 
into words. As if half divining his dim pain she 


THE LUST OF GOLD. 


211 


said quickly with a half defiant, half conciliating air, 
as she rose again, and stood erect before him, 

“ My dear, I do mean this much, at least. If you 
want me to be proud of you, and fond of you, then get 
rich ; be a millionaire, a multi-millionaire, a Croesus, 
and never think I intend to worry about the means you 
employ. You are smart enough to do what you like, 
I'm sure, and I can trust your discretion. I do not be- 
lieve in scanning good food too closely ; it tastes better 
eaten with the eyes shut, often. The same theory 
holds good in all things, I believe.” 

He was looking at her almost with repulsion, yet 
with yearning, too, but he tried to make his tone light. 

“ Then, if I had the cash I could even compete with 
this young Poultney from England that all you women 
have gone wild over, could I ? ” 

“ Bah ! Don’t be personal, my dear, it’s vulgar. 
And I am not aware of raving over any man, myself. 
Yet now you have mentioned him, think a minute, 
Romayne ! His income is thirty thousand a year, and 
he is first cousin to a lord. Do you know what that 
would mean to his wife ? ” She faced him with kind- 
lingj eyes. “ It would mean toilets from Paris, a box 
by the season, a half dozen establishments, stables and 
servants galore, an entrde into the most exclusive sets 
the world over, luxury, indulgence, poiver ! ” 

Her slight figure seemed to expand as she brought 
out each sentence with cumulative force. Romayne 
still gazed, but with a hopeless expression. 

“ And he is a vulgar little red-headed cockney, who 
knows nothing but golf ! I, an Olney, can never be 
his equal, because my income lacks a cypher in the 


212 


BUBBLES. 


row. And there’s no use trying, for it isn’t in me,” he 
added in a dejected murmur. He sat still a while, then 
spoke again. “ No wonder Anson is so contented and 
so secure. Phyllis loves him for what he is.” 

She caught a word or two of the mumbled senten- 
ces. 

“ Oh, Phyllis ! ” sharply. “ You are always quoting 
her. She hasn’t an atom of ambition, nor a grain of 
style. She is hopelessly commonplace.” 

“ Who is it says God loves the commonplace people ? ” 
he murmured again, but Marjorie did not catch the 
words, for just then the maid entered with two cards 
upon a salver. 

“ Ah ! The Honorable Rupert Poultney — and that 
Nellie Prentice ! Isn’t she angling for him, though?” 
she whispered as the maid withdrew. “ There cer- 
tainly are advantages in being a widow when one is 
young and pretty ! You’ll come down of course, 
Romayne ? ” 

She hurried out, not looking back, and did not see 
the dark flush that overspread her husband’s face. 

“ Oh yes, I’ll go down,” he said, echoing her laugh 
with one that was hard and sharp, “ down and out, 
perhaps — who knows ? It’s pretty certain I wouldn’t 
be missed ! ” 


CHAPTER XXIL 


komayne’s temptation. 

To some temptation comes suddenly, like the swoop 
of a hawk out of the blue, to others slowly, like the in- 
sidious creep of the leopard upon its prey. To Ro- 
inayne it came openly in the guise of love and trust, 
and — as he acknowledged to himself afterward — he 
went fully half way to meet it. His grandmother, as 
she became enfeebled, began to have those odd freaks 
and fancies that accompany the weakness of age, among 
which a lurking distrust of the nearest and dearest is 
too often apparent. She had, perhaps, noticed more of 
passing events than Mabel was aware of, and through 
some sort of reasoning known only to minds half gone 
out in darkness, had decided her daughter was acting 
strangely, and perhaps concealing something in regard 
to property matters, for her own advantage. 

It sounds too cruel thus written out, and indeed her 
thoughts were scarcely formulated so far as this, but, at 
any rate, she began to tell herself that Mabel was tak- 
ing into her own hands far too much control of matters. 

“ She seems to think it’s all hers,” the poor old lady 
complained to herself, as she sat, or lay, through long 
hours of idle musings. “Mabel was always shrewd 
enough — now she’s absolutely stingy ! She is saving 
up for by-and-bye. She thinks I won’t live many years, 
and then she’ll have full swing. I don’t know why I’ve 
213 


214 


BUBBLES. 


got to let her manage every tiling ; I’m neither dead, 
nor superannuated ! I’ll have to show her I am still 
her natural guardian.” 

Then perhaps the seamed eyelids would droop, and 
she would doze away, forgetting for the time her griev- 
ances, which might never have reached any further de- 
velopment had Romayne kept away. But having run 
down for one of his periodical visits to his aunt, the 
latter left the two alone for a time, while slie went out 
to concoct luxuries for their palates. Mrs. Olney, hav- 
ing been ill and wakeful all night, was beset by dark 
fancies to-day, and after a moment she quavered out, 

“ Romayne, I want to talk with you a little about 
business.” 

Romayne started. Had his aunt been complaining? 
Did the old lady know at last? But the next words 
reassured him. 

“I want to consult with you about my investments,” 
she said, and he breathed again. 

It was her own affairs, then, not his, that burdened 
her mind, and he listened wonderingly as she went on 
in a hesitating, shamefaced manner to voice her ca- 
pricious fancies and unjust suspicions. The pith of the 
whole matter was finally laid bare in an eager question 
— would he assume full control of her property in 
future ? 

At first Romayne could scarcely believe his senses. 
To have even this moderate fortune thus freely made 
over to his care seemed to him almost like the tender 
of an Aladdin lamp. What might he not do with these 
thousands at command, when their owner was a frail 
woman in her dotage, who probably never cared to 


BOMAYNE^S TEMPTATION. 


215 


spend her income, even, and of whom himself and his 
aunt were doubtless the sole heirs? It was indeed a 
temptation in the guise of light. 

He had one moment of hesitancy, to be sure — one 
moment, when his soul arose, strong in its might, and 
cried “ Beware ! Beware ! ” But he drowned the 
inner voice in his audible one, grown husky and strange, 
as he asked, 

“Do you really wish this, grandmother? Won’t it 
hurt Aunt Mabel’s feelings ? ” 

“And why should it hurt Mabel’s feelings?” bridled 
the old lady, quickly. “ It isn’t her money. Let her 
spend, or save, her own as she pleases, but she needn’t 
scrimp me just because we’ve always kept the incomes 
together, and that’s what she is doing lately. Why, 
she even asked me if I needed so much of that tonic 
I’m taking, as if she begrudged me the three dollars a 
bottle it costs. It’s outrageous ! And we don’t take 
half the magazines we used to, or books, or anything.” 

To his credit be it said, Romayne’s face colored with 
shame as a pang of regret shot through him. He could 
guess why expenses were curtailed, and for a second a 
passionate desire to right things — to confess all and do 
better — to say, “ Keep your money where it is safe, 
and never again will I trouble you and Aunt Mabel. 
I alone am to blame ! ” filled his heart. 

But he remembered Marjorie, with her insatiate greed 
of spending, he remembered the debts which were 
pressing him more and more heavily each day, he re- 
called how impossible it would be to change matters at 
homCj to get along at all without this help, and the 
right impulse faded away into a sick feeling of regret 


216 


BUBBLES. 


and hopelessness. He spoke in a weary tone that 
sounded like indifference, though within him was grow- 
ing a feverish desire to clutch this wealth, to finger 
these mortgages and investments. 

“ Wouldn’t your lawyer object? ” he asked in a fee- 
ble tone. 

“ I don’t believe so. The fact is, Romayne,” she 
raised herself from the couch and looked guiltily to- 
ward the door, then added very low, but in a half ex- 
ultant tone, “I believe Mr. Rutter would favor it! 
He was here lately, once when Mabel was out, and 
though he didn’t say anything definite he seemed 
deeply astonished when I hinted at the way I am 
scrimped and hampered. He asked in a laughing way 
if Mabel had any pet philanthropy on foot, and when I 
said ‘ no, she had even given uj;) the library scheme she 
was so set upon for a while,’ he looked as queer as 
could be, and said he really could not see the need of 
such economy with an income like ours. Now, what 
do you think of that ? ” 

Romayne’s only answer was to spring from his chair 
as if stung, and walk the length of the room, where he 
stood at the window looking out for some time. His 
grandmother watched him with a tender gaze. 

“ The dear fellow I He can’t bear to hear me even 
hint that his auntie can make a mistake. And he 
doesn’t really want to assume all that responsibility, I 
can plainly see. But I think I shall insist ; he is a 
man, now, and my natural protector. He ought to put 
aside his personal feelings and please me. Yes, I shall 
insist.” 

As if he had divined her thoughts, he turned now 


ROMA YNE 'S TE3IPTA TION. 


217 


and came toward her again, looking strangely pale, 
and yet keen -eyed almost to brilliancy. He met her 
gaze with a hardness that she took for resolution — and 
she was right. He had resolved to be a villain. 

“If — if we do this,” he said in a voice that faltered 
in spite of this new firmness, “ can it be without Aunt 
Mab’s knowledge? I should hate to — hurt her feel- 
ings.” 

“ She needn’t know you have anything to do in the 
matter,” returned Mrs. Olney quickly, then in her 
fretted tone, “but why keep harping on her feelings? 
Isn’t it my money ? I shall pay my share of the ex- 
penses, as formerly, only in my own name. It looks to 
me very queer that it should hurt her to divide up, if 
everything is as it should he ! ” 

As she emphasized these last words a look of such 
suspicion, such cunning, such cupidity, came over her 
pale, fragile countenance as to utterly transform it. 
Her grandson looked at her with a certain horror, 
which he was quick to conceal. Was everyone evil at 
heart? Was all good but a negative quantity, but a 
lack of opportunity ? 

As the questions flashed across his consciousness the 
door opened, and his aunt appeared. Her fair, noble 
face smiled tenderly upon her mother, then turned 
wistfully to him. He felt answered. Here was some- 
thing besides negation. Here was one — ah ! he knew 
it too well — who had made, and would continue to 
make uncomplaining sacrifices for those she loved. 
The sight of her was a torment just then and, pleading 
some excuse, he caught up his hat and hastily left the 
house. 


218 


BUBBLES. 


The division of property was completed a little later. 
Mabel listened to her mother’s roundabout attempts at 
explanation in a marveling silence, but told herself, as 
she often had to, nowadays, that it was only one of 
mother’s invalid fancies, and made no objection what- 
ever. Why should she? She had always kept the in- 
come separate in her own mind, as now she could in 
reality. 

Mrs. Olney, more than half ashamed, now that she 
met with no opposition, took upon herself a generous 
share of the house expenses, and Mabel, knowing well 
how greatly this would relieve her own depleted purse 
without embarrassing her mother, said nothing for, or 
against. For, though she would scarcely acknowledge 
it to herself, she was both hurt and angry. She felt 
her administration had been just and careful, and that 
this change veiled something hostile and strange in her 
fondly-cherished parent. 

Yet, she barely battled with the thought, though it 
kept her from remonstrance, or questioning. She did, 
however, ask at length in a languid way — for somehow, 
of late, she often felt a soul weariness that was hard to 
throw off 

“ I suppose Mr. Rutter will take full charge, then ? ” 
and Mrs. Olney, having answered stiffly, “ for the pres- 
ent — yes,” in a tone that implied, “ though it does not 
concern you at all to know,” Mabel asked no further, 
and fully supposed that careful, conservative Mr. Rut- 
ter was still her mother’s business manager. 

On his part, the old gentleman was entirely deceived. 
Seeing Romayne with the air of a prosperous business 
man, and knowing of his manner of living in the city, 


ROMAYNE^S TEMPTATION. 


219 


he never doubted that he had developed all the Olney 
traits of keenness and frugality. His grandmother, 
undoubtedly, knew what she was about, and it was 
quite the correct thing for her to look to the one sur- 
viving male representative of her family for business 
help. It would save her expense and worry, and as 
Matteson was one of the heirs he would be as inter- 
ested as she in looking well after her few thousands. 
As to Miss Mabel, her growing parsimony was a bit 
odd, but not unusual. She might have given up the 
thought of marriage, and be making investments for a 
lone and aged future. Such forethought was essentially 
an Olney characteristic, and not so reprehensible as the 
old lady seemed to think, though, to be sure, it was 
hardly fair to squeeze her, too. But the girl (she was 
always a girl to him) probably thought her mother 
would not notice, or care. If, then, the latter was get- 
ting a bit cranky it would be just as well for a man to 
manage her. No two women ever could think alike in 
business matters, anyway. 

Thus Romayne, so unhindered that he seemed to 
himself fairly pushed into this position, received the 
papers and the power of attorney, and trembled with 
dread and delight as he felt that he was now master of 
his own fate— and his grandmother’s fortune. 

This all came about a few weeks after the little talk 
last recorded between husband and wife. He often felt 
in a savage mood toward Marjorie, these days, and 
threw upon her the blame of the new burdens which 
galled his own conscience. She so ignored his debts 
and difficulties, she was so selfish in her desires, so set 
in her resolves ! Yet he loved her, too. Her beauty 


220 


BUBBLES. 


still fascinated him, and when she chose to be caressing 
and kind she could guide him as an Indian guides his 
cranky canoe. 

She knew and loved her own power, and had a way of 
becoming sweetly persuasive just in time to prevent the 
tension of their relations snapping into open rupture. 
Romayne’s weaknesses all lay bare to her, and she 
knew exactly which to play upon. But he could not 
fathom Marjorie’s many moods, and sulkily waited her 
lead, never knowing just what it might be. Perhaps 
just this uncertainty gave the pursuit a zest, however. 
A man may swear at the clog he holds by a chain, who 
leads him by leaps and plunges into fences and over 
ditches, but he certainly finds the animal more inter- 
esting than the lazy cow, who plods unswervingly 
along chewing her cud in placid content. Marjorie 
led Romayne a frowning captive, yet never ceased to 
interest him, and always let him think he held the rope. 

In these anxious, harrowing, soul-destroying days he 
told himself grimly, 

“Marjorie demands it. She will have luxury and 

position at any price, and if I don’t get them for her 

A curse on these rich men who have nothing to do but 
travel about the world, and make women discontented 
with their lot! I must make money — I must! All 
grandma cares for is her income. I’ll see she has that, 
and meanwhile I will try some of these quicker ways to 
wealth. Plenty of men are successful — why not I ? 
She said ‘Rob a bank I Gamble!’ At least I can 

gamble in stocks, and then ” a grim smile came 

over his fast-hardening face aS the unbidden thought 
flashed before him — “ rob my grandmother ! ” 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


TWO HOMES. 

“ Do you know, that’s ten times you’ve walked across 
this room and back, Anson? I’ve counted. What in 
the world is it ? I wouldn’t ask- if it was just common 
business, but it is not, I’m sure.” 

He stopped and laughed. 

“ What penetration ! What perspicacity ! Phyllis, 
my dear, how do you manage to know so much when I 
know so little? Now, I’m not sure whether it’s ‘just 
common business,’ or not.” 

“ Well, Anson, you can tease all you like, but I do 
know, just the same. It’s different. The other walk 
is a long, slow, steady tramp, like a man on a treadmill ; 
this is unsteady, hesitating, slow, then brisk. You 
aren’t thinking out a case at all — something bothers 
you.” 

Her husband laughed again, and threw himself into 
a chair. 

“ Come here. Bright Eyes, and sit on the arm, then 
I’ll tell you all about it. I am really trying to decide 
between two women.” 

“ Indeed ! Then you needn’t,” tucking herself snugly 
into the bend of his arm. “ There should be only two 
women in the world for you — mother and I — and you 
need never decide between us. Our ideas are identical, 
and they centre in you.” 


221 


222 


BUBBLES. 


“ Most prettily said ! You’ve the rale Irish blarney 
for a phrase, or a compliment, Phyl. But mother isn’t 
in this at all, only you and — the other one.” 

“ Well ! ” 

“ And the other one is poor and haggard and old. 
Wait, I’ll 'tell you. You know about the mortgage I 
was compelled to take in lieu of money — the mortgage 
on that suburban property, Spencer’s addition?” 

“ Yes.” 

“Well, I visited it to-day for the first time.” 

“ And found the other woman ? ” mischievously. 

“ Yes, I found her. She was on my land. She was 
a decent widow with a crippled, bedridden son, and she 
supports herself and him by shop work. The little 
house was bare to meagreness, but tidy. I asked a 
question, or two, and she answered cheerily, telling her 
history all in a minute, as people do who lead monoto- 
nous lives with nothing to conceal. She gets along 
pretty well, except when the boy is worse, and takes 
up her time ; then it is a bit hard, but they manage to 
live, thank God! We talked a little while, and then I 
remarked that I was glad to have so good a tenant, for 
I now owned this property. I also hoped she would 
not find me a hard landlord. She looked at me wide- 
eyed and pale. ‘ Landlord — tenant ? ’ she gasped. 
‘ Why, don’t you know ? This is my house. I bought 
it with some money my brother left me. I’ve paid 
every cent on it — every cent. I thought we would at 
least have a roof over our heads — Neddie and I. It 
would make it so much easier, with no rent to pay. I 
bought it slick and clean. It’s mine — my own, that I 
paid the cash for. What do you mean about your being 


TWO HOMES. 


223 


rny landlord?’ Well, you see how it was, Phyllis. The 
poor, ignorant creature had trusted to that smooth ras-^ 
cal Spencer, in the matter of papers, thinking her part 
done, poor soul ! when her every dollar was paid in, 
and she hasn’t a scrap of paper to show for it.” 

“And you believe her?” 

“ I do. Her neighbors confirm her story, and say she 
has owned the house for two years without a question. 
Spencer gave me that mortgage just before he had to 
leave the country to save his neck, and I have only 
lately foreclosed. She has rested there in perfect se- 
curity, though in reality and in law she is nothing but 
a squatter. I could eject her to-morrow, or force her 
to pay rent.” 

“But in equity, Anson?” 

He looked up brightly. 

“Ah ! my little lawyer, you catch my point. Yes, in 
equity — that’s what is bothering me. I had meant this 
certain piece of property for you. There are two houses, 
and each ought to rent for nine dollars a month. I 
thought you would thus have what you say a woman 
should always possess, your own private income, to spend 
exactly as you like. You see, now, what I meant by 
deciding between two women. I long for you to have 
that rent money, for I have to cut you short often on 
your little private spendings, I know, but I also long — 
to do right. Would it be right to force that poor crea- 
ture to pay rent when rightfully she owns the house, 
and on the other hand, will it be right for me to deny 
you, and lose what is legally my own because that 
debtor of mine was dishonest? Who will look after 
my wife, if I do not? ” 


224 


BUBBLES. 


Phyllis was sitting so close he could feel the soft 
beating of her heart with the arm that encircled her, 
yet she nestled even closer as she said, in so low a tone 
he had to bend his ear to catch the words, 

“I suppose God could, dear. Let’s just do right ! ” 

He Caught her to him and kissed her, with a swell- 
ing heart. 

“Indeed God can and will, my darling! And so 
will I. For such a wife a man must conquer difficul- 
ties, and though it is slow work to keep in a straight 
path in the law and make any money, yet I feel that 
things will come our way in time.” 

“Things have come our way, Anson. You came to 
me, 1 to you, and love and trust to both. What do a 
few dollars more or less matter, when we have each 
other?” 

He did not try to answer. Some talks go so deep 
that words are left grounded on the shallower soil in 
which they grow. But, after a long time, Anson said 
quietly, 

“ I am a rich man, Phyllis I ” and the wife felt this 
was his blessing. 

It was at this same hour. Marjorie stood in her own 
room, dressing for an evening out, when Romayne, who 
had not been home for dinner, suddenly appeared at 
the door. He looked weary and haggard, while his 
eyes had the bloodshot appearance of one suffering 
either from insomnia, or liquor. 

“Are you going?” he asked abruptly. 

She turned leisurely from the mirror, brush in hand, 
and looked at him from between the luxuriant masses 
of her hair. 


TWO HOMES. 


225 


“ Why not?” she returned coolly. 

But he was not daunted by her manner. 

“ Have you seen Olney this evening ? ” he ashed in a 
stern voice. 

“ Why no, not since dinner.” 

“I tell you, Marjorie, the boy is ill. He has a fever. 
I can see a decided change since morning. Have 3^ou 
had the doctor? ” 

“ Yes, he was in about noon. He thought it was 
nothing but a slight cold. You are foolish over that 
child, Romayne ! Come, hurry into your dress suit. 
The carriage will be here.” 

“I shall not go. I’m sure it is more than a cold. 
Marjorie, be a woman, and let this party go. What 
difference can it make for once ? ” 

“ What difference? You seem to have forgotten that 
this is the last before Lent. It will be the swellest 
affair we have had, and I can tell you, Romayne Matte- 
son, a ball at the Van Hornes is not a thing to be 
lightly given up.” 

“ Lightly ? Do you call illness a light thing ? ” 

“Certainly not, but babies’ ailments are not illnesses. 
Olney will be all right in the morning, and then we’ll 
be disgusted to think we gave up so much for nothing. 
Come, don’t be a goose, Romayne, and do hurry. It’s 
almost nine. I will take a look at him before I get 
into my gown, and if he is really bad we will stay.” 

Her conciliatory tone calmed her husband. 

“Well,” he said, beginning to drag out the chiffo- 
niere drawers one by one, as a man always will before 
hitting the right one. 

There was a time when he had been wont to ask 


15 


226 


BUBBLES. 


Marjorie to help him, but that was past. He often 
wished she would lay out his clothing, but as she never 
did he had long since ceased to expect it. The word 
home, even after several years of married life with the 
woman of his choice, could never convey to him the 
meaning it' did to Anson, who could not hear it without 
a thrill of pleasure. 

To-night, Romayne was nervous over the child whom 
he fondly loved, and behind this terror lurked another. 
A rumor had reached him that certain stocks were fall- 
ing; if they went to the bottom 

He shivered at the thought that kept intruding, then 
stepped deliberately to a small wall-cupboard, used for 
medicines in the bathroom, took down a well-filled 
flask and, placing it to his lips, drank a deep draught. 

“ I must steady my nerves,” he muttered. “ This 
suspense — however, why think of it ? I have one more 
night to live, at least ; let to-morrow go. Marjorie’s 
way is right. Give care the go-by, and enjoy yourself 
while you may ! ” 

As his wife ret3'ntered he faced her with an air half 
reckless, half defiant. The stimulus had already be- 
gun to work and he was ceasing to care, lulled into a 
false security by its brain-benumbing power. 

“Well, how is the youngster? Did you find him 
feverish, or not ? ” 

“ Not to amount to anything. He is often that way 
when cutting teeth.” 

“ Oh, teeth ! But he has them all now.” 

“I don’t know. He isn’t much over three. It may 
be a double tooth, you see, and a little cold with it.” 

“ All right. You ought to understand these things 


TWO HOMES. 


227 


— I suppose mothers do. Get into your gown, then — 
heavens ! what is that ? ” 

“ Why, you nervous creature, it’s only the door bell. 
We hear it so plainly in this room. I presume it’s the 
carriage.” 

He had stopped, his coat held suspended in both 
hands as he was about drawing it on, and turned white 
to the lips. Marjorie coolly went on with her prepara- 
tions and, being now fully ready, picked up a handsome 
fur-trimmed wrap from a chair. 

“ Come,” she urged, “what are you waiting for? It’s 
the carriage, I tell you. Put on 3'’our coat.” 

She spoke sharply, contemptuously, and passed out, 
meeting the maid in the hall. 

By this time Romayne appeared, somewhat more 
composed, and in his dress coat. 

“ Is it the carriage, Maggie ? ” Then in a sharp, 
anxious tone, “ What’s that in your hand — a telegram ? ” 

“ Goodness ! no, Romayne. What can you be ex- 
pecting that makes you so queer ? Can’t you see it is 
a pamphlet in a yellow wrapper ? ” 

“ Suthin’ I found on the door step, Mr. Matteson. 
They do be throwin’ ’em constant, and I’m thinkin’ 
they oughter be a law agin it, fer the work it makes 
pickin’ ’em out the corners, and all — yes’m, it’s the 
kerridge awaitin’ at the dure. Shall I put on yerwrap 
’m?” 

Romayne calmed his nerves and, getting into his 
overcoat, turned to the maid. 

“ Maggie, don’t let Ellen neglect the baby. And if 
he seems worse telephone the doctor. We shall be 
back early.” 


228 


BUBBLES. 


“All ! will we?” thought Marjorie, but merely swept 
past him down the outer steps, impatient to be off be- 
fore anything could happen to prevent. 

It was just past midnight, and Mrs. Matteson was in 
the midst of her triumphs, having received even more 
than her meed of attention, and reduced Mrs. Prentice 
to a sulky anger, thinly veiled under her polite sarcasms, 
when Romayne suddenly came behind her. She was 
passing through the avenue of palms, into which a 
broad corridor had been converted, and was conversing 
in low tones with her escort, when she felt a hand laid 
heavily upon her shoulder. She turned from the Hon. 
Rupert Poultney with a haughty movement, and a 
“ Really, Romayne ! ” but the look on his face checked 
her. He was ashen white, and his lips — those loose- 
hung lips that seemed made only for light talk and 
laughter — were twitching convulsively. 

His clutch upon her shoulders shook her as she 
stood, half defiant, half irresolute. For an instant she 
thought him mad with jealousy, and cowered a little, 
but knew better as he said quickly in a thick voice, 

“I’ve got to — go away. Telegram — business. You 
can get home ? ” 

“ Yes. When will you be back? ” 

“ To-morrow — I don’t know — when I can.” 

He hurried away without even a good-bye. Mar- 
jorie gazed after him, while the Hon. Rupert remarked 
sapiently, 

“Seems a bit nervous, eh? Hope he doesn’t object 
to my — ah — innocent attentions, Mrs. Matteson?’' 

“ Certainly not ! ” returned Marjorie coldly. 

She was recalling her husband's strained, anguished 


TWO HOMES. 


229 


face. Somehow, before the awful reality of extreme 
mental suffering, tlius closely brought home to her, this 
young coxcomb with his monologues, his monocle, and 
his millions, suddenly dwarfed into the proportions of 
an insect. She wanted to shake him off, as she would 
a mosquitoe. She wanted to stop and think what that 
face meant. Was it terror, guilt, pain — what was it? 

Bah I How this fool prosed on, how tlie lights 
glared, and what a sickening whirl it all was. She 
stopped suddenly in their slow pacing, which was caus- 
ing Mrs. Prentice to emit little caustic remarks at her 
friend’s expense, which could scarcely fail in their pur- 
pose, as they amused the listeners while besmirching a 
reputation. For the first time Marjorie had remem- 
bered her sick baby. One blow always makes us fear 
and expect another. What if Olney were worse than 
she had realized? 

She drew her arm almost rudely from that of the 
Hon. Rupert. 

“ I think I will go home,” she said in a voice not her 
own. “ I am tired and — and I do not care to stay with- 
out my husband. Will you call my carriage ? ” 

The man looked at her a moment in surprise. 

“ What admirable diplomacy ! ” he drawled. “ I hope 
you are not noticing the little side scene in that corner. 
Nellie Prentice has a jealous nature, you know — ah — 

and, and really ” He half closed his eyes and 

laughed amusedly. It was an indescribable laugh, 
full of meaning ; an outburst that was an insult to 
the woman who listened. She drew back, stung to the 
quick. Even in her troubled absorption she could not 
fail to understand the fellow’s insinuation, and her sud- 


230 


BUBBLES. 


den fury of rage and shame showed that the young 
wife was not yet entirely given over to folly. 

She turned from him with a movement of utter scorn, 
and without a word, or glance, walked away to the 
stairs and quickly mounted them. The Englishman 
looked after her in some astonishment. Why such re- 
sentment when he had, time and again, coasted along 
the very verge of dangerous topics without a rebuff? 
He could not understand how one who looks straight 
into the eyes of sorrow turns instinctively from sin. 
Is not this the real mission of that dark angel, whose 
ministrations are so awful ? 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


A TERRIBLE NIGHT. 

The Hon. Rupert had barely recovered his equanim- 
ity when Marjorie appeared once more, looking as if 
she had hastily flung on her wraps, without waiting for 
assistance. It had been the prerogative of this young 
scion of a noble house to place her cloak about her 
shoulders with his own august hands, and accompany 
the act with some new and appropriate compliment, 
each time — which rather taxed his mental faculties, by 
the way. But to-night she swept past him as oblivious 
as if he had been an everyday American lad, with no 
possessions except two toil-hardened hands and a brain. 
He could not believe his senses. Was it for this 
woman, merely tolerated for her beauty, to snub him 
who represented (in the fourth or fifth degree) an 
English title ? 

Had Marjorie seen his face she might have felt 
avenged, but she saw nothing. Straight out into the 
night she passed, quite unattended, and herself called 
a vulgar, intrusive cab, which was lingering about for 
prey, from the curbing. Giving her address and the 
imperious command “ Drive fast ! ” she sank back, with 
a dry sob. 

Terror was upon her. A terror of something unde- 
fined and fearful, but which she deserved. Yes, she 
felt this through and through. She deserved it, and it 
231 


232 


BUBBLES. 


was coming — she was going to meet it. She could 
give it neither place, nor name, but it was there await- 
ing her, and its premonitory shadow, looming giant- 
wise, dwarfed all her former life into foolishness. She 
sat in a dnmb horror, afraid to think, ashamed to pray, 
and waited. 

It was a relief to see that the house looked as usual 
at that hour, all dark, except for the dim hall light and 
another lowered jet in the nursery. Surely, Olney 
could be no worse. She attempted to dismiss the cab, 
but the man doggedly demanded his fare, and even 
when she said in her most imperious fashion, “ I tell 
you, Mr. Matteson will see you to-morrow ! ” he only 
placed himself before her, and returned roughly, 

“ That’s all right, mum, but I want my pay.” 

At another time she would have been furious ; now 
she was simply harassed. She wanted to get inside 
and find what waited her there. 

“ I can’t pay you here. I’ve no pocketbook — can’t 
you see ? Let me into the house and I’ll get the 
change.” 

He grinned in an insolent way, and shook his head. 

“ Think I’m a fresh ? ” he muttered, leaning toward 
her, and a whiff of his breath proved that his pertinac- 
ity was doubtless partly the result of bad whisky. 

She began to be really frightened. 

“Good heavens! Do you doubt my word?” she 
cried, as he extended a hand to block her way, when 
she made an effort to mount the steps. “ I cannot pay 
till I can go in. Must I summon our watchman ? ” 

He stepped back a trifle with the words, 

“Hope it’s better’n your husband’s, then,” and at 


A TERRIBLE NIGHT. 


233 


last let her go by, though he followed close at her 
heels. 

Before the door, for the first time she remembered 
she had not the latch key. Romayne had carried it off 
in his pocket. She must arouse the servants. 

While she stood with her thumb pressed against the 
electric button the man leaned negligently against the 
balustrade at her side, and waited with impatient 
mumblings. She was now shivering with fear, yet had 
the strange feeling that, after all, this was as nothing 
to what was coming ; merely a pin prick to the surgi- 
cal operation to follow. Yet it seemed an age till she 
heard a sleepy stumbling step inside, then a voice call- 
ing through the keyhole, 

“ What’s wanted ? ” 

“ It’s I, Maggie — Mrs. Matteson. Open the door at 
once.” 

After some fumbling it fell slightly ajar, and she 
pushed her way in. 

“ Is all well ? ” she asked quickly. 

“ Yes’m. Why not ? Did you forgit to take the 
key?” 

“No. Mr. Matteson has it. He was called away on 
business, and failed to give it to me. Here, take that 
to the cabman, will you ? I want to look at baby.” 

“But sure ’m, it’s barefooted I am, and not half 
dressed.” 

“ Well, well, give it back then,” and snatching the 
change once more, with that exasperated sense of con- 
stant hindrance, such as sometimes torments one in an 
evil dream, she hurried to pay her reckoning and be 
rid of that nightmare of a man ! Then, locking the 


234 


BUBBLES. 


door and dismissing the maid, she ran rapidly up to the 
nursery. 

All was quiet here, the gas turned low, and the grate 
fire a glowing mass of coals behind the fender. Ellen 
lay, partly dressed, upon her cot, Olney sound asleep, 
apparently, in his small white bed, and neither stirred 
as she entered. Breathing more freely, she stole to the 
child’s side and bent over him, then, with a stifled 
exclamation, turned the gas on to its full head and bent 
above him again. 

How strangely his face looked! It was a waxen 
white, with a dull sodden appearance, his eyes were 
sunken deeply, his sleep seemed abnormally deep and 
moveless. Not even real illness, of any kind she 
understood, could have changed him so greatly in this 
short space of time. 

She snatched him up in her arms, and he lay back in 
them inert, boneless, with no more spring than a rag 
doll. He was not dead, but oh ! what did ail him ? 

She awoke the nurse with a sharp call, and the girl 
sat up dazedly, rubbing her heavy eyes. 

“ What is the matter with the baby ? What have 
you done to him ? ” cried the mother, tossing him up 
and down in a frantic effort to waken him. 

“ Oh ! please ’m. He’s been sleeping so nice, and 
’twas such a time before he’d settle down. I’ve barely 
took a wink, he was thet cross and restless.” 

“He isn’t sleeping. He — he’s dying I Oh, Olney, 
baby, wake up and speak to mamma ! Oh, God help 
me, I don’t know what to do. Go to the ’phone, quick, 
and ring up the doctor. Tell him to come at once — at 
once^ do you hear? Tell him it’s a case of life, or death.” 


A TERRIBLE NIGHT. 


235 


She could not, with all her efforts, arouse the child 
in the slightest degree. As the girl, chattering with 
cold and fear, returned to the room, she turned fiercely 
upon her. 

“Tell me about this — every word. How was he? 
What did you do ? Tell the truth — the absolute truth, 
I command you ! ” 

“ Oh, please ’m, he was feverish, as you saw, and 
kept crying and tossing, and nothing would satisfy him. 
He kept calling for auntie and papa, and for water — 
gracious ! he drank it by the pitcher full. But he just 
wouldn’t go to sleep at all, and I was fairly wore out. 
When Maggie come in I got her up here, and she said 
they wa’n’t no use in it, and she found suthin’ in the 
med’cine cupboard and give it to him, and pretty soon 
he went off like a lamb.” 

“ Find me the bottle,” said Marjorie sternly, and the 
trembling girl obeyed. 

It was a solution of laudanum which from long 
standing had become thick and strong. She uttered a 
cry of horror and despair, at which the girl began to 
sniffle. 

“She said a drop or two wouldn’t never hurt him. 
She’d knowed lots of folks give it to babies. Yes, she 
did, mum — and you needn’t blame it onto me fer I 
ain’t the one. If you’d ’a’ staid home when you see he 
was sick, ’twouldn’t ha’ happened — that’s what ! ” 

She was growing spunky in her fright, but. Marjorie 
did not resent it. She was feeling too keenly the 
justice of the charge. 

“Stop crying,” she said, “and help me. We must 
wake him up. Oh, if the doctor would only come I 


236 


BUBBLES. 


Take off my flowers, unfasten my gown, and bring me 
some easy wrapper and my house slippers. Call 
Maggie on your way ; tell her to heat some water, and 
find the mustard. Then come back and hurry, 
hurry ! ” 

It was ail hour, as we count time, an interminable 
age, as Marjorie lived it that night, before the doctor 
came, and still she had been unable to thoroughly 
awaken Olney. Yet he continued to breathe, and 
occasionally a quiver would contract his eyelids which 
gave her hope to keep on with her efforts. No one, 
seeing her at that hour, would have recognized tlie 
languid, fashionably-indifferent mother of the morning. 
Carelessly wrapped in her loose gown, with her hair 
tumbling around her shoulders, her eyes bright with an 
intense purpose, and her hands never ceasing the rub- 
bings, shippings and bathings to which she subjected 
the child, she was in every sense of the word another 
woman. 

When the physician at length hurried in, he gave 
one quick, surprised look, then said heartily, 

“Well done, Mrs. Matteson, you are on the right 
track! We’ll bring him through yet. I wouldn’t have 
believed you could do so well.” 

She attempted to answer, but suddenly burst into a 
storm of tears, the first she had shed, and knew at 
length the blessedness of one ray of light after the 
thick darkness of despair. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


ANSON SEEKS INFORMATION. 

Through all this agony Marjorie had been longing 
inexpressibly for Phyllis, but it seemed impossible to 
reach her at this hour, as her modest little apartment 
did not boast a telephone. As soon, however, as day 
had begun to break, the repentant and thoroughly scared 
Maggie was dispatched with a note, which brought her 
in an incredibly short time. Word was also left at the 
Dunlap home, but with no such urgent haste, for 
Olney was, if carefully tended, now out of danger. 

When Phyllis arrived, accompanied by Anson, she 
left him below, and was met by Marjorie at the head of 
the stairs, wan as a ghost, who clasped her close in a 
long embrace. 

Phyllis, thrilling to the conviction that this was her 
own dear sister of the past, loving and kind, held her 
as if she could never let her go, stroking her bright 
hair softly, as she murmured, 

“ My poor darling ! It’s been an awful strain.” 

A long shiver ran over the young mother. She 
lifted her head and looked into her sister’s dove-like 
eyes. 

“ I was at a party,” she said gravely. “ I was danc- 
ing and — flirting. I am a wicked woman ! It would 
have served me quite right if he had died. Phyllis, I 
haven’t known how much I love him. Who put the 
237 


238 


BUBBLES. 


love there against my will ? It is so strange — so aw- 
ful ! Everything fell away and left just my bare sin- 
ful self, face to face with death. The bubbles I had 
chased, and reached after, and debased myself to get, 
broke into thin air and vanished completely. I saw 
they were nothing — nothing / ” 

“ Yes, dear, I know. They are nothing. You are 
utterly worn out, and your hands like ice. Come to 
the fire and sit down. My own little Marjie ! 

Phyllis drew her sister lovingly to an easy chair, and 
gently pushed he,r into it, then went to look at little 
Olney, who could now faintly smile up at her from his 
pillow. 

After a loving word to him she returned to ask, 

“Is Romayne downstairs with Anson, Marjie ? ” 
“No, he isn’t at home — come here, Phyl.” 

The . younger sister stepped closer. 

“ I don’t know about him,” whispered Marjorie. “ He 
had to go away from the Van Hornes on business, and 
oh ! he looked ghastly. I came home alone in a strange 
cab.” 

“ Marjorie ! ” 

“ Yes, with a brute who bullied me for my fare, and 
smelled of whisky ; and Romayne had the key, so it 
seemed an age before anyone came to let me in, and I 
knew something awful was coming — something that 
hasn’t all come yet. Oh, Phyl, Phyl ! ” 

“ Yes, dear. Don’t talk about it. I’ll go down and 
tell Anson. He will stop in at the office and ask 
Archer Price. Surely, he’ll know where Romayne is. 
May I bring my boy up a minute? He wants to see 
baby.” 


ANSON SEEKS INFOEMATION, 


239 


“ Oil, of course ! Throw that heavy shawl around 
me, please. I’m in a shiver.” 

Phyllis obeyed, and Anson soon came in, gravely 
tender, and so helpful with ideas and suggestions that 
Marjorie found herself leaning upon him and trusting 
him, as she had always trusted Phyllis. A little later 
Mr. and Mrs. Dunlap came, and Anson left to pursue 
his inquiries, but as he went out Marjorie managed to 
whisper, quickly, 

“ Not a word before father and mother, yet. It will 
only fret them, and they couldn’t help.” 

But Anson learned nothing from Mr. Price. The 
man seemed astonished to hear his partner had been 
called away, and declared it could not be upon any firm 
business. He suggested, with a light laugh, that it 
might be an affair of an entirely different nature, but 
colored hotly under Anson’s unsmiling glance. He per- 
ceived there were certain jests not relished by the latter. 

Anson pursued his inquiries in other directions. He 
knew who were some of Romayne’s constant asso- 
ciates, also the club house of which he was an habitu^. 
Not wishing to make a public matter of his private 
anxieties, he strolled leisurely through the lobby into 
the rooms beyond, and glanced carelessly about him. 
He did not believe Romayne had left town, nor did he 
expect to find him here. But there was a certain man 
who had often been with him, of late, of whom he 
would like to ask a question or two. 

As he crossed the tiled floor a woman on her hands 
and knees, wiping up its polished surface, looked 
around, and a sudden light crossed her seamed, care- 
worn face. 


240 


BUBBLES. 


“It’s her man!” she whispered, looking after him. 
“ Bliss her swate heart I I hope he does be good enough 
for her, an’ I’m free to say he looks moighty like it. 
Sukey telt me aboot him. She said he was a foin man 
— not rich, but adoin’ well. I’m glad o’ that, now I 
Whin I see Tilly at that iiistermunt, happy as a bird in 
a tree, I feel as if goold itself wasn’t good enough for 
her little feet to tread on. I wish now ‘t I could be 
doin’ suthin’ for her, the day — and who knows ? ” 

Anson reappeared from the inner room and looked 
about him, then, perceiving the woman, slowly ap- 
proached her. Touching his hat with the respect An- 
son Kingsley never failed to show to woman — abstract 
or concrete — he asked gently, “ Have you been here 
some time? Do you know any of the men by sight?” 

She scrambled to her feet, eagerly attentive. 

“ I’m often here o’ marnings, sir, and I do be minding 
a few o’ the names, but not many.” 

“Do you know a Mr. Conroy? A large, handsome 
man with a smooth face, and dark hair streaked with 
white. There’s a small triangular scar in his left 
cheek.” 

“ Yes, sir, I do — I mind him I He wears a shiny silk 
hat, an’ there’s fur on his overcoat.” 

“ Yes, that’s the man. Have you seen him this 
morning ? ” 

“No, sir, and it’s quare too. I’m thinkin’, for he does 
be takin’ his breakfast here most marnings. I see him 
often.” 

Anson stood a moment in thought, and the woman 
said impulsively, 

“ If it’s annything I could be doing for you now, sir? 


ANSON SEEKS INFORMATION. 


241 


I’d be glad of the chance to help that nice little woman 
of yours ; and tliat’s the truth.” 

“ What, my wife? Do you know her?” looking up 
surprisedly. 

“Indade, an’ I do, sir, praise the saints, an’ she’s like 
to be wan o’ them some day, too. She done me a good 
turn oncet, and I’d gladly do her another.” 

He smiled at her eager volubility, but absently, for 
his thoughts were elsewhere. It was no new thing to 
find humble folk who thought well of his treasure, and 
he received their praises of her with a serene conscious- 
ness that all, and more, were deserved. He said only, 
“ My wife is a friend to every one who needs her. I 
am glad she could do you a favor, and you may return it 
to us both, if you will. How long do you stay here ? ” 
“ ’Most all da}^, this toime, for they’s extry worruk 
to do. Jist tell me what it is, sir.” 

“ Keep watch of the men who come and go, please, 
and if you see that Mr. Conroy, let me know at once in 
this way.” 

He directed her to the nearest telephone, just beyond 
her in the lobby, and made her repeat his address till 
she knew it, then added, “And this is the message — 
just a word or two. ‘ He is here.’ You understand? ” 
“ Yis. An’ must I holler that into the little pipe 
stem wid the bulge end, sir? ” 

“ Yes,” laughed Anson, only don’t ‘ holler.’ Say it 
slowly and distinctly, like this. See ? ” 

“ Yis, sir. ‘He — is — here.’ I kin do it! But how a 
man acrost this big city kin hear me, whin I don’t git 
up my voice even to scolding pitch, does be a mystery ! ” 
And he left hef shaking her head over the floor-cloths. 

16 


242 


BUBBLES. 


His next move was to hasten to his own office, and 
put his business in train, that he might take an extra 
long nooning, and this he spent, after a hurried stand- 
up luncheon, in visiting the stock exchange and putting 
some cautious questions to those present. He had elic- 
ited nothing directly concerning Romayne, and was 
hastening out, when he met Price, who looked for a 
second as if he wished to avoid a meeting, then made 
the best of it, and confronted the young lawyer boldly. 

“ I see both of us are following the same trail,” he 
said, abruptly. “What have you to go on? What 
makes you think he has been dabbling here ? ” 

“ Well, hasn’t he ? ” returned Kingsley, in a non-com- 
mittal tone. 

“Not as my partner,” declared Price stoutly. “I 
had my little lesson some years since, and it was enough. 
But he had a windfall a few months back, and some 

men can’t stand prosperity. Perliaps ” 

“A windfall? I didn’t know — do you mean that 
some property was left to him ? ” 

“ I suppose so. I know he’s had cash to pay up with, 
and funds to invest. He has been impatient to make 
his pile, all in a minute, and has been talking up all 
kinds of crazy schemes. Of course I sat on them, but 
what use when a man gets to plunging? I’ve seen him 
around with Jerry Conroy lately — but perhaps you 
don’t know ” 

“ Yes, I do. Know all about him. He’s been work- 
ing up some new scheme, I understand.” 

“ Well, yes, or an old one revamped. That Mendon 
road, you know, and reopening the iron foundries there. 
It fell through once before, and is a crazy thing, I 


ANSON SEEKS INFORMATION, 


243 


think, but stocks are on the market, and were quoted 
well up last Thursday, so ” 

“ Did Romayne buy ? ” 

“I don’t know, I’m sure. But what if he did? If 
it goes ” , 

“I’ve just seen the ticker,’^ interrupted Kingsley. 
“ Mendon’s quoted at 48.” 

Price swung around on one foot, and let out an un- 
printable ejaculation. 

“ Then the very bottom’s tumbled out !” he groaned. 
“ And what’s become of Conroy ? He’ll be making 
tracks.” 

“ That has occurred to me.” 

“ Well, well, if Romayne dropped his dirt in there ” 
— Price shook his head and walked on, while Kingsley, 
his former suspicions greatly strengthened, hurried 
back to the office, for though a junior member of the 
firm, he was not yet sufficiently his own master to dis- 
regard working hours. 

The afternoon passed with no telephone message, 
and he was about leaving the great building for the 
da}'", when a shabby figure darted forward and inter- 
cepted him. 

“ Ah ! sir, I couldn’t telephone thim words, ‘ He is 
here,’ at all, cause he didn’t come, you see ; but I did 
be bearin’ some talk, all aboot Mr. Conroy, at the cloob 
house, and was thinkiri’ it might be of sarvice, sir. 
They say he’s in thrubble, an’ the officers is aftlier him.” 

“Hah!” muttered Anson, “so soon? Then he has 
probably left town.” 

His oi''servation was merely a thought expressed 
aloud, but she caught it up, instantly. 


244 


BUBBLES. 


“ No, sir, he isn’t gone yit ! ” She leaned forward 
and spoke earnestly, in a low tone. “ He’s liere close 
by, sir. I’ve got him safe hid. I minded me he was 
your fri’nd, an’ so ” 

“My/newc?.^” broke in Anson, amazedly. 

“ But, isn’t he, thin ? And, sure, if he’s your innemy 
I’ve been an’ gone an’ done it, for I’ve got him hid 
away, and the detecter is a-settin’ there in the corridoor, 
like a fox in his black clo'es, a-waitin’ for him.” 

“ Where have you got him ? ” asked Anson, stopping 
suddenly, and feeling too bewildered even to wonder 
at the strange actions of this queer creature. “ Friend, 
or enemy, I want to see him. I want to ask him some 
questions. Will you take me to him?” 

She gladly agreed, and as they hurried down a side 
street the lawyer, by skilful questioning, gained some 
inkling into the matter. He learned that soon after he 
left the club house the news of Conroy’s dishonesty 
had been bruited about, and much excitement pre- 
vailed among the men, too many of whom had been 
victimized by his specious promises, and would suffer 
largely from the bursting of this bubble of speculation. 
The talk had run high, and Mrs. Grierson, innocently 
believing that these threats and imprecations were 
directed against the friend of Phyllis’s husband, re- 
solved to interfere in his behalf, even to losing a half- 
day’s work and wage. In her warm Irish gratitude she 
had invested the young wife with every virtue, and 
was ready to serve, not only herself, but all her kin ! 

In this case, she determined to keep a close watch 
for the man, Conroy, to give him warning of his foes, 
and let him know a dear friend stood ready to assist 


ANSON SEEKS INF0E3IATI0N. 245 

him. She had spent the most of the afternoon dodging 
around corners, and lingering in doorways, awaiting 
him, and had finally intercepted the astonished club 
man with her message. He was at first inclined to 
make light of her warnings, as those of a crazy street 
walker, but finally consented to listen, until she had 
aroused his anxiety of the day to fever pitch, and he 
had consented to step into a restaurant near their place 
of meeting, and wait there until the “ friend ” she men- 
tioned, whose name she could not give, should come to 
him. 

Her dark hints in regard to the “ detecter ” had made 
him decidedly nervous, though Anson took the story 
with large allowances, deciding the man in “black 
clo’es like a fox ” was only some inoffensive stranger 
from out of town, trying to keep an appointment with 
some tardy club member, for evidently Mrs. Grierson’s 
vivid imagination needed little material out of which 
to conjure up an exciting tale. 

However, having thus secured the interview he de- 
sired, Anson could not quarrel with the woman’s 
manoeuvering and blundering, ridiculous as it was. In 
any other way it might have been a difficult matter to 
interview this man, who was both wary, and ready of 
resource. 

When he turned and confronted Kingsley, his un- 
mistakable start and flush showed plainly how un- 
welcome was the meeting. 

“ Ah ! ” he said, with a sneer, “ So ^ou are my anxious 
friend ? I might have known the woman had been set 
to spy upon me ! ” 

“ And why should anyone be set to spy upon you ? ” 


246 


BUBBLES. 


asked Anson, in a tone that showed Conroy he had 
committed himself. 

Anson ignored his muttered reply and added, 

“We are neither of us spies, and the idea of my be- 
ing di, friend was a mistake of this good woman’s. Ex- 
cuse my discourtesy in mentioning it. Still, now we 
have met, I must insist upon a word with you in pri- 
vate.” 

He turned to Mrs. Grierson, who waited at a little 
distance, thanked her warmly, and was about to dismiss 
her with a generous fee, when she staj-ed his hand. 

“ No, sir,” she said firmly. “ It’s 1 that’s obleeged, and 
I couldn’t take a penny from her man, bliss her! But 
if it’s done wid me you are, I’ll be afther goin’, and 
glad I am, sir, that I could helj) you a bit, the day.” 

Anson tried to insist, but she hastened out with her 
hands wrapped in her shawl, and he told himself he 
must surely ask Phyllis all about the odd creature, and 
what favor had so won her heart — a resolve acted upon 
that night when he told his story of the day, and after 
much persuasion succeeded in worming the truth out of 
his wife, loving her the more deeply because of the 
good deed and her reluctance to making it known, even 
to her other self. 

For Phyllis truly obeyed the Master’s injunction, 
and her left hand seldom knew what her right hand 
was doing, at least through any boasting of her own. 

Anson returned to the man, who stood sulkily await- 
ing him, and they retired to a small private room, in 
which the guilty Conroy felt much like a rat in a 
trap, before the keen and searching inquiries of the 
other. He parried them some time, giving vague and 


ANSON SEEKS INF0E3IATI0N. 


247 


unsatisfactory replies, till the lawyer suddenly lost 
patience, and rose to his feet with a brusque, 

“ Very well, Mr. Conroy, I see you have determined 
not to give me any satisfaction, so I may as well de- 
liver you up to the others, who are waiting for you.” 

“The others?” questioned the man sharply, throw- 
ing off his bored, blasd air with promptness. “ What 
others? Who is waiting for me?” 

“ I don’t know. The woman spoke of a man in plain 
clothes, who seemed very patient, and — have you ever 
heard of Howland ? ” 

Conroy gave a nervous start. 

“Well, what is it you want to know? I have busi- 
ness, and cannot be detained longer. State your 
wishes as briefly as possible, sir, and let me go.” 

“ I wish you to tell me exactly what sum Romayne 
Matteson has sunk in your railroad scheme, and where 
he is now? ” 

The man hesitated, with a shrug of his shoulders. 

“ Really,” he began, “ your desires are modest. Why 
don’t you ask me to hand over all my papers at once ? ” 

“ I may, soon,” returned Anson in a cool tone. 

The other gave a side glance at his determined face, 
and it seemed to spur him to a decision. With a 
dogged look he answered briefly, 

“ Several thousands — I can’t give precise figures from 
memory, and I have no memoranda with me. As to 
his whereabouts — how should I know?” 

“ That is no answer.” 

“ Then, I don't know.” 

Anson sat and gazed at him thoughtfully. 

“ Several thousands ! ” he muttered. “ Where did he 


248 


BUBBLES, 


get them? Then aloud, “And these thousands are 
nowin your possession? You will have to disgorge, 
Mr. Conroy.” 

“ You can’t squeeze blood out of a — ^you know the 
old saying” — sneered the man with an evil laugh, “but 
you’re welcome to try it. If he is wrecked, I’m 
ruined.” 

Anson gave him a keen look. There was a shifty 
expression in the other’s yellow-green orbs that im- 
pressed him. He felt that some lie lurked in their 
depths, and he grew cold between dread and disgust. 
Some impulse forced him to ask, with pretended 
courtesy, 

“Where did you see Matteson last? It is under- 
stood he has been in your company a good deal of late. 
What did you do with him last night for instance ? ” 
trying to smile carelessly. 

“Do?” cried the other with a fierce oath. “What 
do you mean by such a question, sir ? ” 

“Suppose you just drop heroics and answer,” sug- 
gested Anson mildly. 

There is an old adage, “ Beware the fury of a patient 
man.” Anson had been very patient, so far. Conroy 
felt that he had himself w^l in hand, and it made him 
tremble, despite the long training which had made him 
the coolest of villains. He recognized his man too well 
not to dread him, and time was passing rapidly. He 
must, in some manner, end this interview and get away. 
His one idea of a last resource was the “ bluff.” He 
tried it now. Squaring himself about, so as to face his 
opponent, he cried angril}^ 

“ See here, Kingsley, I don’t propose to sit around 


ANSON SEEKS INFOE3IA7WN. 


249 


and take any more of your impudence ! What are you 
driving at, anyhow ? Do you tliink I’ve murdered that 
young idiot for his money, and thrown his body into the 
river ? George ! that wasn’t necessary. He fairly 
flung it at me. I never saw any sucker rise to the bait 
so readily as he ” 

“ Enough ! ” interposed Anson, rising, but the other 
pressed his advantage too closely, and gave a taunting 
laugh that was too much for even Anson’s patience. 
He sprang from his chair and took a step toward the 
door. 

“ You scoundrel I ” he ground out between his teeth, 
“ I shall leave the law to deal with you,” and was about 
to stride forth and deliver the man up to the authori- 
ties, when he was suddenly pinioned from behind. 

“ Spy • ” hissed Conroy in his ear, jaining his arms 
into his sides with the grip of a vise. “ Traitor I Do 
you suppose I’ll let you go coolly out and ruin me ? ” 

The clutch was a vindictive one, and had taken 
Anson at a disadvantage, yet he disdained to cry out 
for help, especially as, after the first surprise of the 
savage onslaught, he had thought of another way. If 
he could, with his foot, reach the electric button under 
the table, which was in the centre of the small room, 
he could noiselessly ring the bell, and thus summon as- 
sistance. He had been something of an athlete at col- 
lege, and the training helped him now. He began to 
twist and wi^he, every moment taking him a little 
nearer the table. If he could thus wrench himself free 
he would much prefer to fight the thing out unaided, 
but the other’s grip was that of a bulldog, and Anson, 
in all his chagrin, was not quite ready to resort to a 


250 


BUBBLES. 


certain trick he knew, which would doubtless throw his 
antagonist heavily backward, perhaps at the risk of life 
itself. 

So he kept cool and still, acting simply on the de- 
fensive, and straining only against a better hold. 

They had now reached the table, and a new plan 
flashed into Anson’s fertile brain, which he was quick 
to act upon. Watching with wary eye his exact op- 
portunity, he made a sudden strong sidewise lurch that 
sent the knuckles of Conroy’s right hand crashing 
against the edge of the marble slab, which covered the 
table. The intolerable pain drew forth a mufiled cry, 
and loosened his clutch entirelj", as for an instant that 
member was paralyzed. It gave time for Anson to 
wrench himself free from the other hand, seize the man 
with his own pinioning clasp, and b}’- sheer strength 
force him back upon the table. 

In the scrimmage the foot of one of them carried out 
Anson’s own plan and hit the electric button, causing 
a sharp summons to sound below. As neither was 
aware of this, however, the astonished waiter who soon 
appeared at the door disclosed two men in a deadly 
grip, one pressing the other back over the table with 
apparently fiendish determination, and panting through 
his shut teeth, while the under fellow was muttering 
curses dire and deep. 

The darkey’s cries brought the' restaurant’s whole 
force to the scene, as well as many who were seated at 
the tables in the larger room. Anson hastened to say, 

“ I want this man arrested as an embezzler,” to which 
Conroy returned gaspingly from his uncomfortable 
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ANSON SEEKS INFOEMATION 


251 


“ It’s a lie ! He’s a thief and murderer, himself,” and 
the charge just then seemed well founded. 

There might have been difficulty in discerning which 
was right, as the combatants separated, Anson at once 
releasing his man, but on the instant an astonished 
voice called out above the crowding heads at the door, 
“ What, Kingsley ! Is that you ? ” 

Anson knew the voice as that of his senior partner, 
and called back in glad relief, for he greatly feared 
Conroy might still escape justice, 

“Yes, Judge Gannet, and I have Conroy here. Get 
somebody to serve those papers, quick I He has planned 
an escape.” 

The crowd at once made way for the well-known 
judge, while Conroy, feeling that further resistance was 
useless, uttered a fierce oath and sank weakly into a 
^ chair, quite spent with the struggle, and the pains in 
his arm and back. He was soon in custody. Anson 
silently watched his departure in a closed cab, with the 
officer, and after begging pardon of the proprietor, a 
burly German who stood stupidly by, grinning and gaz- 
ing, rather inclined to think this disturbance might 
bring extra custom, he walked away with the judge, 
feeling that all had been done that was possible. 

“ How fortunate you happened in just then, sir,” he 
said, wiping his flushed and perspiring face, “I might 
not have been able to secure him.” 

“Well, it wasn’t wholly accidental,” returned the 
man of law. “ I received a telegram from Howland to 
push the thing right along, and was after the scamp 
with the proper writs. We have traced his grip — prob- 
ably with the papers and cash — to Cincinnati, where he 


252 


BUBBLES. 


expressed it last evening, and, after wiring Grove to 
take possession of it, I came back up town without my 
dinner, to see what I could do. Had just finished 
stationing detectives at the depots and hotels, and 
dropped in here for a mouthful to last me till I could 
get home, when I heard the waiter’s yell of dismay.” 
The old gentleman stopped to chuckle, then went on, 
“ I hadn’t an idea it could be anything I was interested 
in, but something in the very atmosphere of the odd 
little dutcli hole of an eating-place made me feel Bo- 
hemianish and ready for adventure, and as I had just 
finished, I thought I’d take a peep at the fight when, 
lo and behold! it was He laughed again, shak- 

ing all over. “ Well, well, quite an adventure, I do de- 
clare, and I’m glad I was in it I It’s something to tell 
my wife,” and this idea seemed to give him infinite 
satisfaction for he repeated it more than once. 

“ Howland was not wrong in his conjectures yester- 
day,” remarked Anson. “I wonder how he knew?” 

“ He didn’t say. However, everyone knows to-night. 
The street is ringing with the news of the biggest 
swindle for years, and the only queer thing about it is 
that Conroy didn’t clear out sooner. There must have 
been some hitch so that the thing took even him un- 
aware. I never saw stocks fall so fast.” 

“ I have no doubt he was on his' way to the train 
when I overhauled him,” said Kingsley. “ It was all 
through an odd old scrub-woman, who made an Irish 
muddle that has turned out a clean stroke of genius.” 

“ Regular bull, eh ? Tell me about it,” and Anson 
obeyed. 

They presently separated, each to relieve certain of 


ANSON SEEKS INF0B3IATI0N. ^ 253 

the officers on guard, and Anson, at last, to reach home, 
half-starved, but triumphant, and relieve poor Phyllis, 
who was almost in tears over his delay, beginning to 
wonder if it was getting to be the fashion for all young 
husbands to disappear in a mysterious manner ! 

They talked long into the night, after dispatching a 
message to Marjorie that all had been done that was 
possible, and bidding her hope for more news to-morrow, 
but neither could conjecture how the impecunious, ever- 
borrowing, always harassed brother-in-law could have 
secured thousands of dollars, to invest in this last and 
greatest bubble of the stock exchange. 


CHAPTER XX VI. 


A READJUSTMENT TO CHANGED CONDITIONS. 

Days passed into a week, a fortnight, and the first 
sting of a half-acknowledged trouble had grown into 
the dull, continued ache of certain loss and loneliness, 
shot through with quick torture whenever some new 
idea, some fresh conjecture, touched the live nerve of 
Marjorie’s remorseful pain. She went about haggara 
and tearless by day, but at night giving herself up to 
wearing paroxysms of despair, yet springing from her 
restless couch at the first cry of little Olney, who had 
rallied from his prostration and illness, but who did 
not at once regain perfect health, and was more of a 
care than formerly. 

All this Marjorie assumed, dismissing his nurse, and 
doing with her own hands the tasks she had once 
scorned as unfit for her delicate fingers. But just now 
she had forgotten Marjorie Matteson and her attrac- 
tions, and was living outside of self, in a world wherein 
personal charms were ignored. Instead had come a 
sweet humility and strong desire to’ redeem, in some 
degree at least, the unhappy past. 

The family were, of course, all informed of Romayne’s 
disappearance by this time, and knew it was probably 
caused by financial embarrassments, a vague term which 
may mean little, or nothing. For, after consulting with 
Phyllis, it had been decided to tell neither Marjorie, 
254 


A READJUSTMENT TO CHANGED CONDITIONS. 255 


nor her family, about those mysterious thousands, until 
others had been conferred with, who might be better 
informed than they, regarding these matters. But, as 
soon as the Olneys learned of the sad event, Mabel 
hastened to the city, and received from Marjorie a 
warmer welcome than ever before ; sorrow was teach- 
ing her its first lesson — to distinguish tlie false from the 
true, and she knew well in which class of friends to 
place this generous relative. 

Phyllis claimed part of her time, however, and the 
three talked over the mysterious affair again and again, 
always like a traveler moving in a circle, until one day 
Anson ventured to inquire, 

“ Miss Mabel, did you ever give Romayne any large 
amount of funds to invest ? ” 

“ No, never,” she replied at once. “I have only ” 

then she stopped, fearing she was saying too much. 

“ I think I understand,” said Anson gravely, as he 
noted her quick flush, “ you have helped him at inter- 
vals with certain sums? I have surmised as much, for 
I did not believe his business receipts could cover 
their expenses, which must have been heavy. Still, 

even that would not account ” 

“ Account for what ? ” asked Mabel anxiously, as he 
stopped and bent his brows in a deep study of the 
situation. After a little he answered, slowly, 

“ According to that rascal, Conroy’s papers, which 
have been partially secured and appear in evidence in 
the suit we have begun against him, Romayne must 
have invested at least twenty thousand in these stocks.” 

“ What!" Both Mabel and Phyllis uttered the 
startled exclamation, for even the latter had not known 


256 


BUBBLES. 


how large was the amount before, the evidence having 
but recently been secured. It seemed to both im- 
possible. Where could he have laid hands upon such 
a sum? But, even with the word, a wild idea — as 
Mabel thought it then — leaped into her mind. Could 
her mother have entrusted any, or all, of her property 
to the boy ? 

Knowing him so well as she did, this seemed such a 
piece of madness on the old lady’s part that she could 
scarcely credit it, yet a second thought suggested, how 
could Mrs. Olney know of Romayne’s business methods 
when she, herself, had so persistently kept all knowl- 
edge from her ? For the first time poor Mabel began 
to feel that her policy of deceit and silence, though 
springing from the purest of motives, was open to 
blame. It might never be best to “ do evil that good 
might come.” Rapidly her mind ran over the details 
of that trying time — for the division of the proper t}^ 
had tried Mabel severely, though she seemed to 
take it so calmly — and everything confirmed the im- 
pression. 

It had happened just after Romayne’s visit, during 
which he had spent some time alone with his grand- 
mother, in close conversation. Was it possible that he 
had been the one to prejudice mother against daugh- 
ter, in order to gain control himself? Were all her 
sacrifices made for one so hideously ungrateful and 
debased ? 

The query (which we know did Romayne injustice, 
for though weak he had not a particle of calculating 
malice in his nature) made her sick and faint. Anson, 
seeing her pallor, motioned Phyllis to attend her, and 


A BEADJUSr3IENT TO CHANGED CONDITIONS. 257 


left the room for a restorative, but he could not doubt 
that he had hit upon the truth, and that, if not Miss 
Olney’s money, then that of her mother had been sac- 
rificed in this swindle. 

Seeing the way in which Mabel took it, however, he 
could not press the matter, and she did not resume the 
subject then, but after setting the machinery of the law 
and the press in motion, to trace the missing man, re- 
turned home within a day or two, tormented by tliis 
new trouble, which seemed to make all former trials in- 
finitesimal by contrast. 

Meanwhile Anson was busy working up the case 
against the swindler, and it soon was clearly proven 
that the denouement had come too suddenly for him to 
perfect his arrangements, so that he had barely suc- 
ceeded in shipping some papers, and destroying others, 
when his arrest was made. 

Howland, the instigator of Judge Gannett’s prompt 
action, was a traveling man and had by accident hit 
upon the rottenness of the scheme at Mendon, in which 
he had invested somewhat heavily. It was his tele- 
gram of the day before which had set Anson upon the 
right trail, and finally led to Conroy’s arrest. It may 
be as well to state, right here, that the latter received 
his just desserts by a term of years behind the bars, and 
that the investors were partially reimbursed, at a later 
period, from notes and cash found in the intercepted 
grip, so that Mrs. Olney, in time, had a few thousands 
out of the many she had entrusted to her grandson. 

And all through these events the question lying un- 
spoken, yet quivering on the lips a hundred times a 
day, was — “ What has become of Romayne ? ” No 
17 


258 


BUBBLES. 


answer came from the advertisements, except such as 
were soon proven utterl}^ foreign to the subject. Several 
times Anson was called upon to make a gruesome visit 
to the morgue, in order to identify some unfortunate, 
and almost daily some member of the family received 
word from somewhere that the lost was found, only to 
be sharply convinced that disappointment must here- 
after be their daily bread. Marjorie, remembering that 
anguished face as it turned abruptly from her for the 
last time, felt certain her husband had taken his own 
life, and, as the days dragged by, all came to entertain 
the same idea. 

Anson’s first suspicions of Conroy’s agency in the 
disappearance were allayed by the evidence transpiring 
at his examinations. It did not seem that there was 
motive enough for a crime, even if Romayne might be 
one of the principal witnesses against him, and how 
else could he keep the man so securely hidden ? He 
positively denied all knowledge of Matteson, but ad- 
mitted that he had seen him the night of the Van 
Horne ball, and made him a business proposition, but 
after their parting at a certain street corner he had 
never seen the man again. 

He admitted also that Matteson was under great ex- 
citement, and there had been words between them, 
which had led to the proposition alluded to. It was 
that Romayne should join him in Cincinnati and sliare 
his exile, until this trouble blew over. He had intended 
going alone, if it proved necessary, but was willing to 
take Matteson, feeling he could “ make him useful.” 
To guard against treachery he did not fully unfold his 
plans, and if Matteson chose to consider his offer, they 


A JiEADJUSTJfFNT TO CHANGED CONDITIONS. 259 


were to meet and confer together the next day at a 
small suburban station outside the city. This was ab- 
solutely all he knew of Romayne Matteson, and no 
cross-questioning brought out anything further. 

Yet the closest search in and around the places men- 
tioned failed to show the slightest trace of him, and as 
funds were so restricted among the relatives, they could 
do little more after this but watch and wait. 

Another matter to be decided was the maintenance 
of Marjorie and her child, and where she should find a 
home. If she came to Phyllis they would be obliged 
to take a larger apartment, for their one spare room 
was furnished and soon to be occupied by Mrs. Kings- 
ley, while the Dunlap house was already full to over- 
flowing, and Marjorie stoutly declared she should not 
return to the home of her youth. 

Amid the many plans discussed she was slowly de- 
veloping one of her own, and during her sad prepara- 
tions to give up the too fine home, and her interviews 
with the creditors, who flocked to her door, demanding 
instant payment of bills ^vhich seemed to her now the 
evidences of a folly almost verging on insanity, her 
soul longed for an atmosphere of truth, sincerity, and 
peace, and she shunned, as she once had courted, the 
city circles of her girlhood and that brief experience 
as a society queen among those who admired, perhaps, 
but never loved. She would, if possible, flee them all 
and begin a new life, as unlike the old as possible. 
Though she fully appreciated both Phyllis and Anson 
now, yet even with them such a life would prove a 
difficult one to maintain. She would inevitably meet 
many of those she most wished to avoid, and perhaps, 


260 


BUBBLES, 


when time Lad softened her griefs, the old ambitions 
would come back, and once more overwhelm her better 
self in ruin. She wanted to get a way, to be where she 
could think and learn. 

When Mabel reached home she found her mother 
prostrated by one of her nervous attacks, much more 
severe than usual, and there was nothing to do but 
wait for her to rally before presenting the matter lying 
so heavily at her heart. As soon as she dared, however, 
she opened the subject, which she felt could no longer 
be delayed, having brought her sewing to sit by the 
convalescent’s couch. 

“ Mother,” she said after an intent and thoughtful 
silence of many minutes, while she sewed vigorously, 
and her mother lay with closed eyes and corrugated 
brow, as was too often her way, “ Mother, I must ask 
you something, and I hope it will not make you nervous 
and unstrung. There have things come up since poor 
Romayne went that make it necessar}^, and ” 

“ For goodness’ sake, Mabel, out with it ! You know 
I hate preambles, and as to nervousness, can any refer- 
ence to that dear boy help but upset me entirely ? ” 

She buried her face in her handkerchief for a mo- 
ment, then in a muffled voice asked, 

“ Well, what is it? Why don’t you put the question, 
and be done with it ? ” 

“ I will,” returned Mabel, setting her lips firmly. 
“Did Romayne have control of your investments?” 

Mrs. Olney’s handkerchief dropped to the floor, as 
she suddenly raised herself on her pillow, to stare at 
her daughter in astonishment. 

“ What makes you ask that? ” she cried. “ Do you 


A BEADJUST3IENT TO CHANGED CONDITIONS. 261 


mean to insinuate that he has taken my money with 
him, or ” 

“ Mother, try and be just with me, if you cannot be 
merciful. I must ask these questions, or send for a 
lawyer to do it, for your own sake. I am not insinuat- 
ing anything that is not necessary and right. Shall I 
go on ? ” 

“ Mabel, I used to think you had a sweet temper, but 
I don’t know. Lately — well yes, go on, go on ! ” 

Something in her daughter’s face warned her not to 
go too far, so she subsided into mutterings, in which 
Mabel caught the words “if he did manage my 
affairs.” 

“ Then he did have the power of attorney for you ? ” 
she asked quickly. 

“ Yes, he did. Why ? ” 

“ And Mr. Rutter gave up all control ? ” 

“Of course. Why shouldn’t he? Will poor Ro- 
mayne’s ffoing make any difference in my affairs? 
Why should it?” 

“ Mother, have you not heard why Romayne disap- 
peared ? ” 

“ Because he was ruined by that dreadful Conroy, 
yes. But, do you mean to tell me my grandson could 
sell me out of those safe concerns I have owned shares 
in so long, and — what do you mean, Mabel? Come, 
drop that work so that I can see your face, and explain 

this to me ! I can’t take it in — I can’t believe ” the 

fretful voice quavered into silence. 

Mabel let the work fall into her lap, and reached out 
a hand toward a glass on the small table beside the 
bed. 


262 


BUBBLES. 


“ Drink a little of your tonic, mother. I must tell 
you this, though it is so hard to bear, for you will have 
to know it from some one, at once. Romayne put 
twenty thousand dollars into this bubble, and where 
else could it have come from ? Who holds your papers 
now ? ” 

“ Why — I suppose — he does, or did. He said he — 
would deposit them in a safe place — some bank vault, 
I suppose, and — oh, it can’t be ! It can’t be I I’ve re- 
ceived the interest all right, every time, up to the last 
that was due, and I’ve been looking for that every day. 
Mabel, Mabel, I can’t believe this of my boy ! ” and the 
poor old lady, shaken and sobbing, reached longing 
arms to the daughter who now seemed her onlj'' earthly 
comfort. 

Mabel flew to the embrace, soothing and sustaining, 
as if no hard word had ever met her own longings for 
sympathy. 

“ There, there, dear mother! We will look into it 
together, and perhaps it ma}^ not be so bad as we fear. 
I had to tell you, for I knew you would never forgive 
me if I went to Mr. Rutter first.” 

“ I have been deceived, deceived ! ” moaned Mrs. 
Olney in a hopeless tone. 

“ No, no, don’t take it so hard. Even if the worst is 
true, Romayne did not mean tp leave you destitute. 
He thought he had found a way to double your means, 
and enrich himself perhaps, too. We know his ex- 
penses were heavy, and so ” 

“ So he robbed his poor old grandmother, who loved 
him as her own soul I ” wailed the old lady again, 
utterly unnerved. “ Mabel, it’s my punishment for — 


A EEADJUST3IENT TO CHANGED CONDITIONS. 263 


for taking it out of your hands. I thought — Oh ! I was 
wicked myself, and it has come back on me in this way. 
Mabel can you ever, ever forgive your poor mother ? ” 
“ Hush, mother, hush ! There is no question of for- 
giveness. But tell me one thing, please. Did Ro- 
mayne urge you to this ? Did he tell you I was not to 
be trust — not a good manager ? Tell me, mother.” 

No, indeed ! Pie did not want to do it.” 

“ Thank God for that ! ” breathed Mabel softly. 

“I urged it upon him,” continued Mrs. Olney. “ He 
seemed afraid your feelings would be hurt, and did not 
want you to know. I think he really dreaded to as- 
sume such responsibility — poor fellow ! No, no, he 
was not to blame. It was I. I get fancies lying here, 
and you had seemed so — so economical, Mabel — I 
couldn’t understand it, nor Mr. Rutter either, and I 
thought — ah ! I am ashamed to tell you what I 
thought, for I am sure now it was all wrong ! ” 

As she broke into fresh sobbing, Mabel clasped her 
tenderly, and when there was a lull, said gently, 

“ I understand, dear. You thought me a bit unfair. 
You felt I was cutting off the comforts your income 
entitled you to. It was natural, perhaps, but you 
wronged me — you wronged me ! ” 

For an instant Mabel lost her own self-command, but 
soon regained it, and continued in a firmer voice, “ I 
think, now, I ought to explain everything, for I begin 
to fear I have harmed others, as well as myself, by my 
policy of concealment. I hated to have you annoyed, 
so I would not speak out, and constantly tried to make 
things seem the same to you as before. However, you 
were too shrewd for me, as I might have known you 


264 


BUBBLES. 


would be. Mother, I have given Romayne from nine 
to eighteen hundred dollars every year since his mar- 
riage. This has left my own income so small I could 
barely meet my share of the house expenses, and for 
clothing and extras I had little, or nothing. I felt you 
did not like it, when I ceased to buy freely of books, 
magazines, and so on, but I told myself so long as you 
did not really suffer from missing certain luxuries I 
would be justified in what I was doing, but I don’t 
know — I don’t know ! It seems to have gone all wrong, 
somehow,” and with a weary sigh she drooped her 
head to the pillow upon which her mother lay. 

Mrs. Olney, almost speechless from self-condemna- 
tion and this late full appreciation of her daughter’s 
long sacrifice, could only hold the tear-wet face close to 
her own, murmuring, 

“ Poor child ! Poor child ! My own Mabel. Oh, 
how could I ? How could I ? ” 

But the long withheld love and sympathy were grate- 
ful to the poor girl, who felt that her burden was lifted 
quite away, now it was buoyed by perfect trust. While 
they were still talking there was a knock at the door, 
and Rachel entered with the second mail of the day. 
Among the papers and pamphlets was a square en- 
velope, stamped with a small crest, over which the 
postage stamp had been carefully pasted. It was the 
Olney crest, and Marjorie had thus tried to obliterate 
one evidence of her folly. 

Mabel’s first impulse was to read it first alone, in or- 
der to cull out the parts best for her mother to hear, 
but a moment’s consideration gave wiser counsel. 
Hereafter she would share all things frankly with her 


A READJUSTMENT TO CHANGED CONDITIONS. 265 


mother, be they good or ill, so she said, as she deftly 
opened it with a hairpin, “ It’s from Marjorie. I will 
read it aloud.” 

It was a pathetic appeal, and read, 

“ What can I do, dear Aunt Mabel ? There is no 
room for me at father’s, nor at Phyl’s, and you will be 
surprised when I say, I am glad it is so. I long to get 
quite away from here, and begin anew. I want a dif- 
ferent atmosphere from this, which I shall be straying 
into almost unwittingly, if I stay in the city. I long 
for wide cool spaces of sky, for green grass where my 
boy can roll and play, for stillness and sincerity and 
peace. It seems to me some good will come to us both 
out of the country solitudes, and I turn to you and 
Fairhaven with real longing, not only because you have 
always been so good to us, but because your life seems 
to embody and make tangible these things which I am 
now striving after. Dear Phyllis has them too, but it 
is because she is strong enough to live above her en- 
vironment. I fear I am not. I know my own weak- 
nesses so well I dare not tamper with temptation, until 
I have grown stronger with constant trying. Oh ! 
Aunt Mabel, I want to be bke you, and I want Olney 
to grow up under your influence. You know I am lit- 
erally a pauper, and can conceive how I have humbled 
myself to make this appeal, but my strong desire for 
better things urges me on, and I am hoping that in 
time I may find something to do, to relieve you of a 
portion of the extra expense we would entail upon you. 
Please talk it over with grandmother, and win her to 
look upon me with the kindness I do not deserve, and 
yet must beg for.” 


266 


BUBBLES. 


At this Mabel looked up doubtfully, and saw such a 
comical blending of dismay, pity, and repugnance, in 
the other’s pale face that she burst into sudden laugh- 
ter, which slightly verged upon hysterics. Mrs. 01- 
ney gave her a reproachful glance, then laughed too 
ill a protesting fashion. 

“I can’t help it, Mabel! I’m thinking of the baby. 
What won’t a baby do ? And yet the poor girl — what 
shall we say to her ? ” 

Mabel hesitated to answer. She felt that her man- 
agement of her invalid was open to criticism in many 
ways. Had it been good for Mrs. Olney, even physic- 
ally, to be so petted and pampered, to have her 
natural selfishness so fostered by this hothouse cultiva- 
tion, which was rapidly smothering out the stronger 
traits ? 

“ I sometimes think,” she said slowly, as if feeling 
her way, “that we do better, often, not to think whether 
a thing will be pleasant, or not, so long as it seems 
best. Marjorie would not interfere with you, and ” 

“ I wasn’t thinking so much of her.” 

“ Oh, it’s Olney, then ? ” 

“ Well, yes. I do dread the thought of one around 
I must say. They monopolize things so, and they’re 
so — well so in the way, as it were. I’ve known a baby 
to take up more room than a whole family. Then you 
can never be prepared for their whims. They are sure 

to take you unaware. The}" ” She stopped with a 

transfixed gaze, her eyes on th6 door, which Rachel had 
left slightly ajar. Mabel turned in astonishment, to 
follow her glance. A lovely golden head was peeping 
through the aperture, a small dimpled hand grasping 


A UFADJUSTJIEm' TO CHANGED CONDITIONS. 267 

the edge of the door, a chubby white figure bent for- 
ward on tiptoe, the fair face above dimpling with mis- 
chief, the laughing blue eyes gazing straight at Mrs. 
Olney. 

“ It's me ! ” piped the sweetest of baby voices. “ I 
tomed tchew-tchew tars. How do ? ” 

“ It’s Olney ! ” cried Mabel, springing to embrace the 
little fellow, who had won her heart when she was at 
his home. 

“ Bless your sweet baby face, where did you come 
from, darling ? ” 

“ Tomed tchew-tchew tars,” he repeated importantly, 
then beginning to feel strange among these unfamiliar 
surroundings, he looked around in a troubled way. 
“ Yant mamma ! ” he pleaded, with a grieving lip. 

“I’m here, love.” Marjorie came quickly into the 
room. 

“ Grandma, dear, have I taken you by storm ? Aunt 
Mabel, forgive me ! ” She kissed them both in her 
most charming manner, so attractive in her gentle sad- 
ness that a stone would have melted to her, and these 
Olneys were not even sandstone, let alone granite. 

But the grandmother’s eyes could not leave the baby. 
She had seen him but seldom and then not to advan- 
tage He had been either ill, or peevish, with a baby’s 
protest against strange surroundings when too young 
to care for anything outside his own nursery, and 
Mabel had, with her customary policy, kept him away 
from her almost entirely. Now lie was well, delighted 
with his “ tchew-tchew ” ride, which had not been long 
enough to tire him, and disposed to make friends with 
everyone. 


268 


BUBBLES. 


His beauty and the Olney resemblance, strong in his 
cherub face, yet mingling harmoniously with the 
mother loveliness, went straight to her heart, and she 
reached out impatient arms for him. 

“ Bring him to me. Let me have him. My own 
blossom, kiss your gammer ! How lovely he has grown. 
I never saw so beautiful a boy ! ” 

“ Do you think so ? ” Marjorie’s face was wistful. 
“ And more like Romayne every day, isn’t he ? How 
he takes to you, grandma ! He is sometimes shy with 
strangers. But he has enjoyed every minute of our 
little journey, to-day. Aunt Mabel, I followed my let- 
ter by the next train. I thought — I wanted to talk 

with you both regarding my ” 

Before she could finish, or Mabel speak, Mrs. Olney 
interposed, and this in a tone of matronly decision such 
as her daughter had not heard in months. 

“ Of course you came, dear, and there is nothing to 
talk about, except to welcome you. Where else could 
Romayne’s wife and boy go? There is the red room 
across from mine, with the bath off ; it will be just the 

place for you, and if it is not in order, Rachel ” 

“ It is, mother,” cried Mabel gladly. “ It is only a 
day, or two, since I saw Rachel going over all the 
chambers. Come, dear, and take off your things.” 

She led Marjorie across the hall, and when safe in 
the large red room — the finest in the house — she caught 
the young mother’s hands in her own, and the two 
gazed at each other with mirth, and something ten- 
derer, in their eyes. 

“ Olney has won ! ” was all Mabel said, but Marjorie 
felt the welcome in her glance and touch, and for the 


A BEADJUSTMENT TO CHANGED CONDITIONS, 269 


first time the two were in perfect accord — the one in 
loving, loyal protection, the other in true gratitude and 
affection. 

When they returned to the sick room, Mrs. Olney 
cried energeticall}^ 

“ Mabel, bring my tea gown, please — not that old 
sloppy green delaine, but my black satin — I am going 
to get up. I feel ever so much better, and one can’t 
expect a baby to stay contented on a bed. Come, 
hurry ! ” and where, a few moments since, all had been 
tears, languor, and despondency, now came smiles, 
brightness, and energy, upborne on the gay music of a 
baby’s laughter. 



'r 


CHAPTER XXVIL 


IN A GARDEN. 

Spring melted into summer and no word yet came 
of the man who had so strangely dropped out of their 
lives. When Romayne’s affairs were more closely in- 
vestigated, it was found he had parted with about five 
thousand of his grandmother’s funds in unknown ways, 
besides that dropped into the Conroy swindle, and but 
very few were left of the wreck, these having been 
saved by the obstinacy of the old man who held them 
as a loan. 

They were secured on some of his real estate, and he 
was perfectly able to pay on demand, but a feeling of 
distrust for Romayne kept him raising objections in- 
stead of the cash, till his hints and innuendoes as to the 
inquiries he should feel it necessary to set on foot be- 
fore paying over this sum, so alarmed the guilty man 
that he had hastily withdrawn his request for a settle- 
ment, and left matters as they were, which fortunately 
now secured the old lady a yearly interest large enough 
to buy her medicines and house gowns, the first item of 
which was likely to grow smaller all the time, as she 
was perceptibly gaining in health and spirits. 

Mabel, now relieved of all outside demands, found 
herself in a position to assume the family expenses, 
with economical management, and really was the gainer 
270 


IN A GARDEN. 


271 


b}^ the change, as she now knew just what to expect 
and plan for. Even the increased expense occasioned 
by two new inmates did not embarrass her. Phyllis 
liad begged the privilege of dressing Olney, and Mr. 
Dunlap occasionally sent Marjorie a few dollars, whicli 
she usually laid by, alwa3’s with a new backward gnze 
of wonder that she could ever have been so reckless in 
squandering it. 

“I have clothing' enougli for years,” she told herself 
firmly, “ and this shall be used only when absolutely 
required.” Then she would snap her lips together as 
sharply as her pocketbook, and get out some discarded 
garment for remodeling. 

Fortunately, Fairhaven was still unincumbered, hav- 
ing been left by will to Mabel after the life lease of 
Mrs. Olney, yet the expense of keeping up its orna- 
mental grounds was great. Back of the shrubberies, as 
the spot was dubbed where the larger bushes were 
clustered somewhat, in order to shut off the view, was 
a tract several rods square, which had formerly been 
kept in gardens, but of late had grown mostly to weeds 
and grass, only infrequently mowed, and of no special 
use, or beauty. 

One day, in following Olney’s toddling feet, Marjorie 
was led to its borders, and as the little one was attracted 
by a clump of daisies growing in the long grass, she 
dropped into a rickety old seat, once used by Mr. Ol- 
ney when inspecting the gardens (which were his pride) 
blit now nearly fallen to decay. She was thoughtful, 
as was often the case these days, and began ruminating 
upon her broken life, and wondering vaguely what she 
could make out of the remnants left to her. 


272 


BUBBLES. 


During the trial of Conroy, so much had come out 
respecting Roma3'ne’s matters that Marjorie had in- 
sisted upon knowing all, and when she found how 
deeply indebted he was to both grandmother and aunt, 
she had been overwhelmed with shame and contrition. 
For, in the truest sense, the “ scales had fallen ” from 
her eyes, and she saw all things in a new light. Pier 
obligations, which she now identified with his, realizing 
full well how she had led him on in his extravagance, 
often pressed upon her, while she daily experienced the 
generous and never-failing kindness of the two women 
so despoiled. Mingled with her ever growing affection 
for Mabel was now an admiration, which spurred her to 
imitation of so noble a character, and she was learning 
to feel as sincere a desire to shield and comfort the 
delicate Mrs. Olney as the daughter, herself. In fact, 
she longed to be a part of them in that sweeter, nearer 
sense which means often pain and sorrow, always bur- 
dens willingly shared, sometimes a giving of life itself, 
but which, through deepest woe, bears unfadingly the 
shining marks of love’s own sunshine, far more glowing 
and beautiful than the garish light of any joy. 

As for little Olney, he needed no effort to establish 
himself at Fairhaven. Mabel fondly loved the hand- 
some bo}', Rachel was his willing slave, while, in her 
care of him, Mrs. Olney entirely forgot her own ail- 
ments ; and how can devotion further go ? An old lady 
wedded to years of cherished complaints must be moved 
to the depths before she can relinquish them of her own 
accord. Olney had done for his great-grandmother 
what no doctor, nor drug, could ever have accomplished 
— he had cured her. Except for her cane, and a slight 


IN A GARDEN. 


273 


limp, she was more nearly well than she had been in 
twenty years, and best of all she knew and owned it. 

To-day Marjorie, rapidly reviewing what she could, 
and could not do — alas ! how much longer was the 
second mental list — found herself quite overcome by 
an idea so mammoth that it nearly took away her 
breath. Why could she not become a gardener? It 
was certainly a daring question, when one considers 
how little Marjorie knew of agricultural matters. Yet 
everybody has some bent, if only he, or she, will take 
pains to rout it out of “innocuous desuetude” and act 
upon it. Marjorie had always been successful with 
house plants, and was fond of their culture. In read- 
ing, too, she noted and remembered what was said of 
agricultural matters, and, strangely enough, read that 
column next to the fashion and society notes. But, 
practically, she had no knowledge, no experience. 

In the library of Fairhaven, very complete and di- 
versified, she had discovered a stack of papers, and 
some valuable books devoted to gardening, collected 
by the late owner, who had made a hobby of his flowers 
and vegetables. She had already browsed among these 
somewhat, on rainy days, picking up many a bit of in- 
formation, which lodged in her brain while other mat- 
ters dropped out, and these came back to her with new 
force, now. 

“ I do know some things,” she told herself excitedly. 
“ I can keep on learning, surely, and now is the time 
to begin, with the waste land ready for me. Aunt 
Mab has to buy every thing in the vegetable line for 
the table, because she says it cost more to hire a man 
to work the garden than it came to. Why couldn’t I 
18 


274 


BUBBLES. 


do some of this work ? There are countless packages 
of seeds in the old cupboard — I wonder if they are 
good, yet ? If a grain of wheat hidden in a tomb for 
thousands of years can be made to grow — dear ! dear ! 
how much there is to learn and how much to do, also, 
if we but set about looking for it ! I have been idle 
and dependent long enough.” 

She rose, energetically, and gazed around after her 
small son, who had strayed away during this mono- 
logue. 

“ Olney, Olney ! ” she cried, then spying him stooped 
over in the tangled grass, added, “ What have you 
found, dear ? Good heavens ! he is trying to pick up 
a snake,” and, with a shriek, she caught up the child 
and fled back to the shaven lawn, and safety. 

But, after one moment of tremors, she recovered 
enough to realize that it was only a garter snake, and 
perfectly harmless, so calmed the little fellow, who was 
more frightened at her outbreak than at any reptile, 
and told herself in a resolute tone, not common in the 
old days, that if she were to conquer difficulties in life 
she must not begin by letting foolish terrors dominate 
her. 

With lips set firmly she shoved Olney into the 
shelter of an ornamental summer house, conveniently 
near, found a stout stick, and returned to the weed- 
grown enclosure to look for her terror and conquer it. 
It was really an awful moment to this young woman, 
who had led the life of a sybarite, shunning disagree- 
ables as if they had been pestilential, and she shud- 
dered and drew in her breath with disgust. For, 
though reason told her the creature could not hurt her. 


IN A GARDEN. 


275 


instinct filled her with a repulsion which seems a herit- 
age for all the daughters of Eve. But Marjorie had 
plenty of resolution, when she chose to exercise it. 

The reptile she found gliding swiftly across a sandy 
space, and she approached it with her lips in a straight, 
firm line, and her brows contracted into two furrows of 
purpose. She made a lunge, shut her eyes tightly, and 
with a sickening disgust brought down her stick sharply 
— whack ! whack ! — then opened them enough for a 
peep. The ground was well ploughed up, but no snake 
was visible. 

She looked dazedly around, and the tall grass just 
beyond her swayed agitatedly — the villain was escap- 
ing! This gave her courage, and the lust of battle at 
last overcame her squeamishness. With a flushed face 
and triumphant mien she attacked him again, this time 
with wide-open eyes — and was victorious. As she 
cautiously lifted the lifeless little wretch on the end of 
her stick, she cried exultantly, 

“ Ha, mine enemy ! ” and, tossing him far away, felt 
as if she had flung Apolyon, himself, out of her path- 
way. 

Possibly, indeed, the spirit of evil which once domi- 
nated her may have laid down his life with the garter 
snake, that day. Who can tell just the moment when 
Satan leaves us, and the angels come to minister to us, 
unless the spirit within is as thoroughly controlled as 
that of Him who was “ tempted like unto us, yet with- 
out sin ? ” At any rate, Marjorie’s listless egotism 
seemed gone forever, and the family were electrified 
at breakfast, the next morning, by hearing her say, 
“ Grandma, I’ve a plan ! May I have that square piece 


276 


BUBBLES. 


of land behind the shrubberies, to do just as I like 
with, this summer?”' 

Mabel laughed, and Mrs. Olney looked puzzled. 

“I hope you don’t want to rent it to the various cir- 
cus combinations that are coming,” said Mabel. “ Tliey 
miglit set the stables afire, and run off with Olney, to 
say nothing of destroying our reputation for sobri — 
Rachel, what are you giving that child, now?” 

“ Nothing to harm,” returned the woman quickly, 
“but the dear lamb’s been a little off on his feed lately, 
so I thought I’d fix his oatmeal up more tempting, you 
see,” and she placed before the little fellow his break- 
fast food, molded into a little patty-pan cake, with the 
cream whipped into a frosting for the top, and a blot of 
jelly in the exact centre for decoration. 

“ You’ll spoil him, Rachel ! ” laughed Marjorie. 
“ How can you find time to fuss so for him ? ” 

“ ‘ There’s allers time for courtin’,’ ” quoted Rachel 
with a grin. “I like it ! ” and she lingered to readjust 
his bib, and pick up the spoon he had at first flung 
down in rebellion. “There, see? See him eat now? 
I guess old Rachel knows ; don’t she, darlin’ ? ” and 
still gazing, so enraptured with him, and her success, 
that she nearly fell over the kitten — Olney’s latest pet 
— she managed to force herself back to her waiting 
duties in the kitchen. 

It was a fortunate thing that Olney was naturally a 
good-tempered child, and by no means an autocrat, or 
he might, indeed, have suffered tliat change into the 
whining, teasing little cad, whom Ave know and dread 
as the “ spoilt child.” 

Perhaps the memory of his father, and what too 


IN A GARDEN. 


277 


great indulgence had done for him, was a check upon 
all, and saved the boy from too much mistaken tender- 
ness. 

After a laugh over Rachel’s latest ingenuity in what 
Mabel called “ the grandmotherly system of training,” 
they returned to Marjorie’s question, Mrs. Olney an- 
swering it with another, 

“ But what could you do with it, child?” 

“Raise things — now don’t laugh! We have to eat 
peas, and potatoes, and corn, don’t we? And Aunt 
Mab must buy them at the markets, when here are 
acres of ground just spoiling ” 

“Oh! no, I’m sure our lawns are beautiful,” inter- 
posed Mrs. Olney. 

“ Yes, but that back lot is not. It’s all weeds and — 
snakes,” laughing a little. 

“ Snakes ? ” Mrs. Olney jumped slightly, and seemed 
inclined to tuck both feet up under her in an undigni- 
fied fashion. 

Marjorie nodded emphatically, “ Yes, I killed one 
there myself.” 

“ Killed a snake ! You? I can’t believe it.” 

“Well, I did, grandma, though it is hard to believe 
it, myself. Olney was actually trying to pick one up, 
and at first I caught him away, and ran and shrieked 
like a goose. Then I bethought me, if I was ever go- 
ing to subdue that parcel of ground I had better begin 
with the snakes, like St. Patrick in Ireland, and I did. 
I finished it with a stick. Ugh ! it’s not a pleasant 
subject for table talk, though.” 

“Well, well, I declare!” 

Mrs. Olney seemed greatly impressed. A young 


278 


BUBBLES. 


woman who could actually kill a snake must be capable 
of almost anything. She began asking practical ques- 
tions, which Marjorie answered promptly, in a business- 
like manner. 

“ What would you do, first ? ” she queried. 

“Have it ploughed and harrowed. I have inquired, 
and can get old Mr. Sterne to do it for a small sum, 
which /shall pay,” nodding defiantly toward Mabel. 

“ Indeed ? How independent we are ! ” laughed she. 
“ Are you sure you won’t have to rob Olney’s ten-cent 
bank ? ” 

“ Certain ! I have my own bank, thank you, and it’s 
not an old stocking, either. What else, grandma ? ” 

“ Isn’t it rather late to begin ? ” 

“ Yes, for some tilings, but not all. I shall let the 
earliest vegetables go, now, but try hard for the later 
ones. Then I have been out an hour, or two, in that 
rose garden, which is nearly choked out with weeds 
and vines, to see what I can make of that, and am 
hopeful.” 

“ Those were choice varieties, once,” murmured the 
old lady. 

“ And may I have those seeds in the cupboard, 
grandma? ” 

“ Of course, of course. Well, try it, child ; I’m more 
than willing. If it puts color into your white cheeks 
it will be well worth while. Only don’t work too long 
in the hot sun. If you could only get used to rising 
early, and taking a nap in the middle of the day ” 

“ Well, I can. Oliiey sees to that. He is awake be- 
fore five, every morning, and I spend the time till break- 
fast alternately scolding and trying to catch tiny cat 


IN A GARDEN. 


279 


naps, which do not do me a bit of good. I mean, in 
future, to get right up, dress the little torment warmly, 
and take him out with me in his cab. In that way I 
can do at least two hours good work before breakfast.” 

“On an empty stomach?” cried Rachel aghast, for- 
getting manners so far as to set down the plate of hot 
cakes she had just brought in, and break out as afore- 
said. 

Marjorie would once have silenced her with a look. 
To-day, she considered the interest underlying the 
words, and did not mind the unconventionality, for she 
knew that real affection caused it. 

“No,” she said pleasantly, “I can always find a bowl 
of your good bread and milk, Rachel.” 

“ Umph ! ” muttered the good woman, who had quickly 
remembered herself, and now departed with heightened 
color. But she privately resolved that a good luncheon 
should always be ready to Marjorie’s hand, so long as 
this fad of hers lasted, which she concluded would not 
be a long time. 

But, for once, Rachel was reckoning without her host. 
True to her word, Marjorie soon had her work under 
way, and all were surprised at the persistently method- 
ical manner in which it was carried on. The roses, re- 
lieved of choking weeds, and the deadly aphides, con- 
sented to put on a relieved and grateful appearance, 
and put out some buds, which in time developed into 
great glowing roses, so beautiful, she felt repaid for all 
her care, and bent herself to the study of grafting, with 
an ambition that stopped at nothing, from gloire de 
Dijons to Jacqueminots. 

But when, one morning, Marjorie’s watchful eyes 


280 


BUBBLES, 


caught sight of several long lines of pale green, em- 
broidering the dark soil, and knew her Little Giant 
pease were up, she clapped her hands and cried, 

“See, Olney, love, it’s coming! The good green 
things are growing. Ah I my boy, you and I are not 
so utterly worthless in this beautiful world, after all.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


DAVID MARTYN, THE HOTEL CLERK. 

It was again approaching spring four years later, and 
a traveler sat in a south-bound train, gazing listlessly 
from the window of his compartment. He was a man 
who looked his full forty years, for he was haggard 
from illness, and had an air of weariness that went 
deeper than mere bodily fatigue. He had fought life’s 
battles bravely, perhaps, but the scars remained, and 
some wounds, possibly, would never fully heal. There 
was something in the long, outward gaze of his dark 
eyes through the broad window that seemed to say he 
cared little for earth, and would not have greatly 
minded if the illness, which had left such positive 
marks upon him, had carried him quite away. 

As the train slowed into the station of the Virginia 
town which was his destination, he gathered his parcels 
together, and gave a somewhat curious look to his sur- 
roundings. 

The place was strange to him, it having been recom- 
mended by his physician, who had peremptorily ordered 
him south, away from the sudden changes of the spring- 
time in more northern localities, and there was not an 
acquaintance living there, to his knowledge. 

He followed the few travelers, who had alighted, 
across the platform to the nondescript mule wagon, 
which seemed to be either awaiting passengers, or tak- 
ing an after-dinner nap in the sandy road beyond, and 
281 


282 


BUBBLES. 


was greeted by a mellow, “ This way, boss ! Take yo* 
right to de Clebeland, sah. Best house in de place. 
Jump right in, sah, and I’ll go an’ tote yo’ baggage 
ovah, ef yo’ll jes’ han’ outen yo’ checks, please.” 

The traveler greeted the grinning darkey with a list- 
less smile, fished a check from some inner pocket, and 
taking his seat within, silently leaned back, closing his 
eyes and ears against the bustle that followed, until 
with a clumsy lurch the vehicle, now boasting another 
passenger, or two, began its sandy, uphill climb to the 
village. 

Presently, to the relief of all, it stopped before a 
rather imposing frame building of three stories, each 
entirely surrounded by wide pillaried galleries, its roof 
being thrown out into gables, oriel windows, and other 
protections, which gave it a quaint and somewhat top- 
heavy look, rather attractive than otherwise. Around 
the base were extensive grounds, neatly turfed, and 
divided by paths, while in farther portions could be 
seen a wealth of vine and shrubbery, alternating with 
open spaces where tennis and archery courts were set, 
from which led long, well-shaded alleys, inviting to 
dreamy strolls — altogether, a decidedly pretty spot, 
thought the traveler, who showed more interest, now 
that his destination was reached. 

He alighted somewhat briskly, and stepped across the 
wide gallery into the large pleasant office and lounging 
room, with its cane and shaker chairs, its tiled fire- 
place, rattan settees, reading tables, and small, railed- 
in clerk’s desk. As the individual in charge came for- 
ward to welcome the new guests, our traveler felt a 
thrill of surprise at his appearance. 


DAVID 3IARTYN, THE HOTEL CLERK. 


283 


He was apparently young in years, yet his chestnut 
hair was thickly streaked with grey, and his eyes held 
in their sombre depths a pathos that moved one 
strangely. They seemed to harbor some secret which 
was too well guarded for surprise, and an indifference 
to trifles which gave them something of the calm in- 
scrutability of the sphinx. 

He was polite in manner and attentive to his duties, 
but entirely lacked the oily suavity of the ordinary 
clerk, as he calmly went about their performance. The 
new guest liked him at once, and felt that here was a 
man with a story. Yet it was more than possible that 
no one would know it from himself, for there was a re- 
serve about him that did not invite too close question- 
ing. 

While thus mentally summing up the man, other 
guests came by the office rail, stopping to ask a ques- 
tion, or to fling him a smiling word in passing — one lit- 
tle boy calling out, “ Oh ! Mr. Martyn, I caught one 
fish all by myself,” as if sure of appreciation, which 
was expressed in a quick smile, and the one word, 
“ Good ! ” Evidently this grave, almost tragic looking 
clerk was a favorite with all, though he apparently 
made not the slightest effort to attract any. 

As time went lazily by, our traveler often found him- 
self watching this Martyn with an interest that in- 
creased daily, and surprised himself. When he en- 
gaged the man in talk he proved fully equal to giving 
any necessary directions, and was fertile in suggestions 
and ideas, but if the conversation strayed into general 
topics, which did not treat of the time and place, he 
relapsed into the attitude of listener, and proved so 


284 


BUBBLES, 


perfect in the role that nearly everyone sought him out 
with some perplexity, or grievance. 

He was a favorite with men, women and children, 
decidedly, and whatever strictures a guest might make 
on the management of the house, or kitchen, it was 
generally supplemented by the words, “ Except Davy 
Martyn, of course. He is always kind and attentive ; 
in fact a perfect treasure in his department.” 

One evening our special guest, after basking some 
time before the bright fire of pine knots, felt himself 
impelled to look up, and met the eyes of this clerk 
fixed full upon him with an intent, questioning, almost 
puzzled look in their depths. They dropped instantly, 
but feeling somewhat justified by the challenging 
glance, the traveler remarked abruptly, 

“ I see you are a northener, Martyn.” 

The latter seemed half startled for an instant, then 
answered in an absent way, 

“No. What makes you think so? ” 

“ Your speech and movements. They are not south- 
ern in the slightest degree. You are not a New Eng- 
lander, either, I think, but, if I mistake not, are from 
the middle west, as I was originally. Am* I right ? ” 

“ I do not — know,” hesitated Martyn, with a troubled 
expression. “ I think not.” 

“TFAy don’t you know?” asked the other brusquely, 
somewhat annoyed at this strange hesitation, which 
seemed unnecessary, if not uncivil. 

“Because it is impossible to know,” returned the 
clerk with some resentment, but more sadness. “ My 
memory only goes back four years, and those have been 
passed right here.” 


DAVID MARTYN, THE HOTEL CLERK. 


285 


“Indeed ? That is surprising! How was it? ” 

“I was brought here from the B. & O. train then, 
unconscious, and was put to bed. They found money 
on my person, and nursed me through a brain fever, 
but it was a long time before I could get about.” 

“ And your memory was gone ? ” 

“ Yes, and my money too,” with his peculiar moon> 
light smile. 

“But what did you do then?” asked the guest, 
greatly interested. 

“ You see. I worked for my board at odd jobs till 
the clerk left, and then they gave me his place.” 

“ Heavens I man, did you never try to find your 
family, your friends ? ” 

Martyn looked at him with that strange, inscrutable 
gaze. “ How could I ? Where should I begin to look ? 
I do not even know that I ever had any.” 

The questioner rose from his chair, then sat down 
again. No wonder he had felt this man was out of the 
common order. After a moment’s dazed contemplation 
of these astounding facts, he asked in a gentle voice, 

“ And you have no idea where you came from ? ” 

“ Not the slightest, except that the train, they say, 
drew in from the west. I have decided I must belong 
somewhere hereabouts, however, for how could I have 
come far when so very ill ? ” 

“But the conductor of the train — didn’t he know? ” 
“ He found me on board in the neighborhood of 
Harper’s Ferry, but how I got there he did not know. 
There had been a general change of passengers at the 
junction. I was alone and very ill. He had me taken 
care of and put me off here, seeing to it that I was 


286 


BUBBLES. 


carried to this hotel. My tickets were gone, and all 
loose change, if I had had any, but in an inner pocket 
way around at the side of my vest, the people who un- 
dressed me found a roll of bills. This, and my cloth- 
ing, and a diamond or two, insured my being treated 
as a gentleman, not a tramp. But which I am, even I 
do not know.” 

“But have you no memory — no glimpses even of 
consciousness that might not, if encouraged, enlighten 
you?” 

Marty 11 had drawn nearer, and now stood leaning 
against the mantel, looking down upon this inquisitive 
guest. He did not answer for a moment, while his 
eyes seemed gazing into vacancy. Presently he said in 
a low, indifferent tone, 

“Why should I try to remember? You evidently 
pity me, and, yet, don’t you see that where there is no 
memory there is no regret? However, I do have 
glimpses of something — yes — unless they are mere 
dreams. I sometimes recall, suddenly, a name ; again 
a scene flashes across me, which must belong to my 
past, it is so unlike anything I know here. In reading — 
and by the way I had to learn to read, like a child — I 
often find myself thinking, ‘ I have known all this be- 
fore.’ But all these glints of light are gone in an in- 
stant.” 

“Names, eh?” queried the other. “Then you re- 
membered your own in this way, doubtless.” 

“My own? No, they found it in my hat; a small 
traveling cap I had on when I came. This is not one 
of the names I remember, though.” 

“ Might I ask what some of them are, Mr. Martyn ? 


DAVID MARTYR, THE HOTEL CLERK. 


287 


Pardon me if I seem too inquisitive, but your story 
strong!}^ interests and touches me, as you have ob- 
served. It seems pitiful, for all its lack of pain to your- 
self. I felt sure, from the first, that you had known 
some experience not common to mankind, but I never 
thought of this. It is a strange one ! 

“ Yes, I rarely speak of it. It makes people look 
askance at me in a manner not pleasant. I live in 
each day only, and when I hear people talk of their 
past I fall to wondering how it must seem to have one. 
Your sympathy is not oppressive, sir, and I will tell 
you what I can. There is among these names that seem 
at times to be written on the air before me, one en- 
tirely unknown around here ; it is Olney.’’ 

“Olney?’^ The stranger leaped from his chair. 
“ Olney? Are you sure ? ” 

The clerk nodded with a surprised glance. What 
had so excited this kindly guest in that ? After an in- 
stant the latter said with emotion, 

“ I know that name ! I have known it for years, but 
have not heard it in a decade, or more. What can it 
be to you? ” 

“ I don’t know. It comes — that is all.” 

“ And the others ; are they of men, or women ? Are 
they Christian, or surnames ? ” 

“Both, I think, but the two which come oftenest are 

of females. One is Marjorie” the stranger shook 

his head impatiently — “and one is Mabel ” he 

sprang to his feet. 

“The Mabel and Olney go together, don’t they? 
Try and remember, Martyn. This is the strangest 
thing I ever heard of ! ” 


288 


BUBBLES. 


The clerk looked at him blankly a long minute. 

“ There was something else to it. Aunt-Mabel- 
Olney. I think that is it. Aunt Mabel Olney. Oh, 
if I could pierce this mist ! and he caught his head 
firmly between his fingers, trying to force liis brain into 
activity. Then, looking up with the usual sad smile, 
he said gently, “ It is no use. You have awakened me 
for a little by your interest, but this is all I can re- 
member — all ! ” 

The other, however, seemed strangely agitated, 

“ Come,” he said, “we must talk further, but not 
here,” — as a burst of laughter announced an influx 
of lively guests — “ Why can’t you come to my room ? 
Have you no off hours ? ” 

“ Yes, I am replaced by the night clerk at ten.” 

“Very well, come to me then, will you? I have 
No. 42, second floor.” 

Martyn promised, and the guest went out of doors, 
to wander up and down the long shadowy walks, across 
which lay a bright glimmering of moonlight which 
filled him with the strange, sad ecstasy of days long 
past. The name of Mable Olney had roused him from 
the apathy of grief and illness to an excitement un- 
known for months — an excitement that sent the slug- 
gish blood in a quicker tide through his veins, and filled 
him with a great impatience to learn just how this 
young Martyn had come by the name that must always 
be of deepest significance to Dwight Conyne. For to- 
night the old spell was upon him, and, hearing that 
name under such singular circumstances, had brought 
back in vivid coloring the bitter-sweet experiences of 
the past. 


DAVID MABTYN, THE HOTEL CLERK. 


289 


Again he went through that parting scene, which 
had left its impress upon his whole life. There had 
been some years of wedded happiness between, to be 
sure, and sometimes the memory had grown dim, but 
to-night, bereaved of his wife and only child, one blow 
following closely upon the other, and later, prostrated 
by long illness, the intervening years seemed to drop 
away and leave him filled with yearnings for the past 
— the further past which had seemed entirely gone from 
out his life. 

When he finally sought his room to receive his guest 
he was in a turmoil of hope and dread. Who would this 
young man prove to be, and how could he make him 
remember, when his own knowledge was so limited, 
and of so distant a period? 

The two did not waste time in preliminaries. Each 
silently lighted a cigar, after Mr. Conyne had passed 
them, and then they drew their chairs close togetlier, 
and he began. 

“You noticed my surprise at the name, Mabel Olney? 
I will tell you freely, it is that of the girl I loved and 
parted from over fifteen years ago. It does not seem 
possible that you can have been in any way connected 
with her, yet on the other hand, how could those two 
names which belong together have become so associated 
in your mind? Now I am going to tell you what I re- 
call, and see if thus I can touch any chord in your 
memory which will help us both. The Mabel Olney I 
mean is now nearing thirty-six years. When I saw 
her she was not quite twenty-one. She was tall and 
slender, with a fine carriage, and an air of firmness and 
repose unusual in so young a woman. I thought her 
19 


290 


B UBBLES. 


features very handsome, but better yet was her expres- 
sion, sincere and sweet. Her voice was exceptional, 
pitched to a rich low tone, without a touch of coarse- 
ness, and her smile was like a burst of sunshine. You 
will think me very enthusiastic, and yet I do not feel 
that I exaggerate. I think ” 

Mr. Martyn raised a hand to check him. 

“ Wait, wait ! Sincere and sweet — the words seem 
to fit some one so well — and the voice, and smile — I 
can almost see her. Aunt-Mabel-Olney. I have that 
much clear — don’t let me lose it. Her smile — her 
firm bearing ” — He shook his head disconsolately. “ It 
is all gone in mist. I cannot pierce it. I cannot keep 
the vague faces that look out at me. It distresses me ! ” 

“ Let me go on,” said Conyne quickly. “ She was 
the daughter of a rich man, the owner of a fine place 

called Fairhaven ” Martyn looked up eagerly, then 

shook his head once more — “in the village of , in 

Ohio. They were an old and respected family.” 

But there was no further response to Conyne’s slow 
statements, nor to his eager gaze as he made them ; 
they did not cause the vibration of any chord, appar- 
ently. So he continued but with less hopeful expec- 
tation. 

“ Mabel Olney had an older sister who was married, 
and had died before this time, leaving a little child. 
She was Mrs. Romayne Matteson, as I remember, and ” 
— Martyn leaped to his feet as if he had received an 
electric shock, and his loose-hung lips quivered pain- 
fully, 

“ No, no ! ” he cried. “ It wasn’t a woman, but a 
man — a boy. It was He sank down again, and the 


DAVID 3IABTYN, THE HOTEL CLERK. 


291 


sad, dulled look fell over him like a veil. “ I don’t 
know,” he muttered, “ I don’t know. I seemed for an 
instant to see a young man I knew well in some terri- 
ble trouble, but it’s gone. I cannot place it; I can’t 
even bring it back, now.” 

Mr. Conyne repressed his sympathy, and continued 
methodically, 

“ This Mrs. Matteson, as I say, had left a child, a 
little boy. I forget his name — possibly it was Romayne, 
too. He would be at least twenty-five, or six, by this 
time, I should think, though I cannot tell. I only saw 
him once, or twice. You do not know your own age, 
Martyn ? ” 

“No, but,” touching his whitened locks, “it’s more 
than that, of course.” 

“I don’t know,” mused Conyne. “Something be- 
sides age — probably your fearful illness — has done that. 
Could you be that nephew of Mabel Olney’s ? Oh, try 
to think ! ” 

But the other only muttered again, “ Aunt-Mabel- 
Olney; Aunt-Mabel-Olney — I know that, and Marjorie. 
Who is Marjorie ? And why, when I see the name 
Olney by itself in the air, do I feel it should belong to 
a baby ? Aunt Mabel Olney carries an entirely differ- 
ent meaning to me. The three words go together, 
but just Olney alone — it is a baby’s name, I am cer- 
tain.” 

Conyne sighed. 

“ You’re getting mixed, Martyn. Don’t try to think 
any longer. It’s late, and you need rest. I’ll talk with 
you again.” 

Still groping wearily for the intangible glimmers of 


292 


BUBBLES. 


light that too quickly went out in darkness the sad- 
eyed young man retired, and Conyne sat late into the 
niglit trying vainly to piece together this crazy patch- 
work of a stranger’s memories into something warm and 
tangible, by which, perhaps, he might comfort himself, 
as well as this forlorn waif, who could not realize his 
own desolation. 

The season for guests was now at its height, and the 
hotel rooms rapidly filling. Conyne could seldom get 
a word with the busy clerk, who was most faithful to 
his duties, and when he did the latter proved utterly 
unsatisfactory, seeming not only to have lost even his 
imperfect hints of past days, but all desire to try and 
see what they might amount to. His apathy in the 
matter actually tormented Conyne, who had hoped 
much from a constant reference to the past, and who 
longed inexpressibly for even the frailest link in the 
chain of events coiling down the years, which might 
lead him back to her w'hom he now knew he had never 
ceased to care for, as the one woman out of all the 
world to satisfy his deepest nature. 

It was sometime later, and the invalid, now rapidly 
recovering in these soft, sunshiny days, was taking his 
exercise in one of the long glass-covered galleries, 
flooded with sunshine, when he overheard two other 
men talking of an excursion which was to consist of a 
drive up the valley to the finest country seat in that 
vicinity, known as Stannard Hall. Evidently there 
was some difficulty about getting a sufficient number 
together, and Conyne was somewhat amused to see that 
these young men were doubtless considering the ad- 
visability of inviting him to join them. 


DAVID MARTYN, THE HOTEL CLERK. 


293 


Presently their minds were made up, for they ap- 
proached him, and one said, courteously, 

“ Mr. Conyne, we learned your name from Davy 
Martyn, the clerk. Allow me to introduce my friend, 
Major Stewart.’^ 

“And let me present Mr. Peyton,” added the 
Major, while each cordially shook the westerner by the 
hand. 

After some scattering talk about the place, the 
weather, and so on, Mr. Peyton made known their 
errand. 

“We are to have the buckboard,” he explained, 
“ and there are two or three places yet to fill. It will 
be a delightful drive, and we should be pleased to have 
you join us in a Dutchman’s treat, if you will.” 

Conyne laughed pleasantly. 

“ Certainly ; I shall be glad to do so. Put me down 
for two places, at least. Shall I fill one with a lady ? 
And whom do you advise? You see I am not at all 
acquainted here.” 

“ That is as you like, though I’m afraid our ladies do 
lack cavaliers, and we can introduce you to some very 
charming ones,” put in the Major. 

“ Thank you ! Pray do so. I had thought of ask- 
ing Martyn, but ladies first by all means.” 

“ Oh, he is going. He is to look after Mrs. Pritchard, 
our landlord’s wife, as Pritchard can’t go himself. We 
couldn’t go without Davy ! But come, we will make 
you acquainted with our party.” 

Conyne was soon presented to half a dozen ladies and 
gentlemen, with whom the minutes passed enjoyably, 
and when they separated to prepare for the excursion, 


294 


BUBBLES. 


his companion was engaged, a quiet little woman of 
the languid southern type, whose pretty child of four 
had already been the recipient of favors from the 
lonely man, and who was delighted at being included 
in his invitation. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


THE DRIVE TO STANNARD HALL. 

“See? There’s the Hall! ’’cried a bright young 
girl on the front seat, leaning back to be sure all heard. 
“ Isn’t it a fine plantation ? Do notice that avenue of 
catalpa trees ; how magnificent I ” 

“ And what a thightly thpot the manthion thtandth 
on,” lisped a New York widow, in crepe and dull jet. 
“ I did not think there wath tho fine a plathe anywhere 
about here. And a pavilioned terrathe, I declare I ” 
“What’s a pabilion tewace, mamma?” begged little 
Anice Amiden who was wedged in on the back seat 
between her pretty mother and Mr. Conyne. 

“ Probably an open gallery with a roof of tent 
cloth, my deah,” drawled Mrs. Amiden, in her soft 
voice. 

“ Or, as we should say, a veranda with a fly,” 
laughed Conyne. “ It is a fine place. And the house 
seems to be occupied. See those ladies outside? You 
thought it was closed, didn’t you, Martyn ? ” 

“ Yes, it has been all winter ; the family abroad, I 
think. They must have just returned.” 

Meanwhile, as the buckboard drew nearer, a couple 
of children — boy and girl — came dashing down tho 
long avenue, from the mansion, their fair curls flying 
behind them, evidently bent on seeing the big hotel 
295 


296 


BUBBLES. 


wagon with its merry load. Little Anice, at this sight, 
could not be restrained, and so begged to alight that 
Mr. Conyne leaped out and lifted her to the ground ; 
upon which, with childish perversity, she at once grew 
shy and clung to her friend’s hand, gazing distrustfully 
at the small couple, who stared back with undisguised 
interest. The older child, who was a bright little fel- 
low in a tennis suit, drew nearer and said companion- 
ably, 

“ How d’ye do ? Don’t you want to come up to the 
house with us ? ” then, as Anice only pressed closer to 
Mr. Conyne’s side, he asked with a frank boyish smile 
of amused contempt, “ If she’s your little girl, why 
don’t 3^ou make her talk, sir ? ” 

“ Harold ! ” interposed the other child, presumably 
his sister, raising a wee, warning finger, “ You mustn’t 
talk like that to gentlemens. She’s just afraid a little 
— that’s all. Won’t you come with me up to the 
house ? I’ve got a lot of dolls, and they’s babies, too, 
and my mamma’s there. Come ! ” 

“ Shall we ? ” whispered Anice, turning confidingly 
to her protector, and quite in a tremble of eagerness. 

“ What, I too ? ” cried Conyne with a laugh. “ How 
is it. Master Harold? May I go with little Anice, 
here ? ” 

“ Of course,” said the boy brightly. “ Come Caryl, 
you take her hand, and I’ll take this man’s, and we’ll 
all go together.” 

This suited Anice, so nodding back to the laughing 
on-lookers in the buckboard, Mr. Conyne walked on 
with his small escort, followed at a distance by the ve- 
hicle. 


THE DRIVE TO STANNARD HALL. 


297 


“ So you are Harold and Caryl ? ” he began conver- 
sationally. “ And what is your last name ? ” 

“ Erlacken,” returned the boy promptly. “We’re 
from the north, and we’re visiting our cousin Honor. 
She’s Mrs. Stannard since she’s married our other 
cousin, Curtis, and they live at the old Hall. It was 
my great-grandpapa’s once.” 

“ Indeed ? It is a fine old place, and you have rea- 
son to be proud of it, Harold. And is little Miss Caryl 
here your sister ? ” 

“ Yes, sir, and all I’ve got, too.” 

“ That’s too bad, for little sisters are nice things to 
have. What’s that, Anice? Do you want to run 
ahead with the little girl? Why certainly — go by all 
means.” 

The two sprang on, now the best of friends, but 
Harold felt his responsibilities in entertaining this 
stranger, and would not hasten. 

“ Come up and see my mamma,” he said hospitably, 
as a lady advanced to meet the little girls, and stood at 
the head of the noble flight of steps, smiling at Caryl’s 
excited chatter. 

Mr. Conyne was rather at a loss what to do. He 
wished to seem neither intrusive, nor unsocial, but be- 
fore he could straighten out the argument the lady had 
turned to him her bright face. 

“Will you come up and sit down a moment ? We 
have a fine view from the terrace, and I see my Harold 
has you captive. He has doubtless told you I am his 
mother, and” — as another lady advanced smilingly — 
“ here is our hostess, Mrs. Stannard.” 

Giving his own name, Conyne mounted the steps, 


298 


BUBBLES, 


hat in hand, greatly impressed with the exceeding 
beauty and grace of this fair mistress of a southern 
home, for our old friend Honor had only gained with 
the years, and was still a pearl among women. 

“ My husband is on the opposite terrace,” she said in 
her exquisite voice. “ Will you kindly follow us ? He 
will be delighted to meet a guest of even a little while, 
we see one so seldom.” Then, as they reached the 
other side, from which the grounds sloped up and away 
in billows of green to the mountain's base, she called, 
“ Curtis, Harold has brought us a caller,” and, after a 
moment’s astonished gaze, the two men sprang toward 
each other and clasped hands with a mutual, 

“What, Curtis?” 

“ Of all things, Conyne ? ” 

Another lady standing near was presented as Mrs. 
Kingsley, and a wee toddler at her side piped up, 
“ And I’s Ma’jowie ! ” 

The name did not particularly strike Conyne in his 
surprise, but amid the laughter he took time to stoop 
and shake the bit of a hand so frankly extended to 
him, before again turning to his host. 

“I can’t understand, Curtis — I thought ” He 

looked from one laughing puzzled face to the other, 
and checked himself while the gentlemen cried out, 

“ Oh, it’s all right, old fellow ! I was Curtis when 
out in the wilds, but here I’m Stannard, you see. I 
thought best to drop that high sounding name with all 
my expectations when, discarded by an irascible old 
uncle, I went out west to dig up the nuggets, with 
never a prospect for the future ; but when, by a com- 
bination of circumstances, and some relenting on the 


THE DRIVE TO STANNARD HALL. 


299 


part of a mistaken old gentleman, I became the owner 
of this property, I took it back, so here you see me, 
Ralph Curtis Stannard at your service ! ” 

“I see, I see. What a fortunate meeting! I am 
here alone in a strange land, looking for health, and I 
find a friend.” 

“ Why not say friends ? ” put in Honor in her lovely 
way. “ I have heard of you before, Mr. Conyne, and 
have already dubbed you so.” 

“ Thank you, my dear madam I ” 

“ And I,” cried Mrs. Erlacken in the old, merry way, 
“ always trail in Honor’s wake, to glean up whatever 
she will leave me, while Phyllis here,” slipping an arm 
affectionately around the third ladj^’s shoulder, “ is a 
friend to everybody; aren’t you, dear? ” 

“ Oh, I hope I am not quite so lacking in discrimi- 
nation ! ” laughed Phyllis. “But as my daughter has 
assuredly adopted you I cannot choose but follow,” 
glancing merrily at the little Marjorie, who had slipped 
her hand into the stranger’s and was looking admir- 
ingly up into his pleasant, rugged face. 

After a few minutes’ talk Mr. Stannard, with true 
Virginian hospitality, began to insist that the chance 
guest should make arrangements to stay the night, at 
least. “ And we’ll make further terms to-morrow,” he 
added, laughingly. “No use talking, Conyne, stay you 
must! There I Don’t mention evening clothes,” as 
the other was about to speak. “You don’t need them 
here, and besides we have worn each other’s togs so 
often I know all about the fit. I’ll fix you out in even 
better shape than I used to up in the old Ouray camp, 
when you went to town on the blind burro — eh, old 


300 


BUBBLES. 


fellow ? ” and the two seemed greatly amused over the 
memories thus conjured up. Mr. Stannard soon per- 
ceived the buckboard, however, and finding it had 
brought Conyne with others, at once began to plead, 

“ Couldn’t I prevail on all your friends to stay to 
dinner? Come and introduce me.” 

Conyne shook his head with comical helplessness. 

“You haven’t changed a particle, Curtis. The same 
fellow who gave away our last fatted hen to help on 
old Crooky Heenan’s funeral, and left us to starve on 
dried peas and moldy bacon for a week. Don’t bring 
too much of an avalanche upon your wife, my friend. 
There are limits, I suppose, to even southern hospi- 
tality. We are a miscellaneous party picked up at the 
hotel, and all are strangers to me, though attractive 
ones, so far. By the way, where is little Anice ? I 
must return her to her mamma.” 

“ Oh, then she isn’t your child, Dwight ? ” 

“ No,” sadly. “My one little darling has gone. She 
followed her mother in less than four months. I have 
been alone now for over two years.” 

The sympathetic silence of the moment was broken 
by childish voices, and the two little girls appeared, 
dragging along an aged negress by the skirts, who bore 
in her arms a cherub of a baby, all smiles and dimples, 
over whom old Sukey towered in majestic admiration. 

“ Oh ! see, Mr. Conyne, isn’t it a be-au-tiful baby ? ” 
cried Anice in a rapture, running to his side, her shy- 
ness all gone. “ Did you ever see such a dear darling, 
before ? ” 

“ Never ! ” declared that gentleman solemnly. “ It’s 
yours, Curtis — I mean Stannard — one can see your 


THE DRIVE TO 8TANNARD HALL. 


301 


wife’s face there with half a glance. What a charming 
little creature ! They always did call you ‘ Lucky 
Curt,’ and no wonder.” 

“ How they did whoop and howl the day I found the 
old lead — do you remember ? Say, Sukey, set her down 
and show how well she can stand on her feet, and only 
ten months — see that, Dwight ? Phyllis, here, declares 
Marjorie walked at the same age, but we don’t believe 
her! Women can no more help squibbing over their 
babies’ smartnesses than girls can over their love affairs. 
It’s born in ’em I ” 

“ But not in their fathers, of course,” suggested 
Honor with mild sarcasm. “ You’ll have to hurry if 
you invite those people, Curtis. They’re waving for 
Mr. Conyne, now.” 

With one last toss of his darling, Stannard returned 
her to proud Sukey’s arms, and followed his new-found 
friend to the buckboard, now waiting near the east 
front on the broad drive. With reckless hospitality he 
cordially invited the whole party, as he had threatened, 
but after many thanks and protestations, all declined 
and finally drove away, leaving Conyne only, much to 
little Anice's displeasure. 

“Good!” murmured the master of Stannard, as he 
linked his arm within that of his friend. “ They were 
nice people, evidently, but I want you to myself to- 
night. We’ll go down in a body and call, later. By 

the way, will that Mr. What’s his name? be sure 

to attend to sending over your traps, as I bade him? ” 

“ Davy Martyn, the clerk ? Yes indeed ! He is very 
thoughtful of his duties, always.” 

“ Clerk, eh ? Rather an unusual specimen of that 


302 


BUBBLES. 


genius, isn’t he? Looks more like a Byronic poet, I 
should say.” 

“ He is an interesting character, I find,” and Conyne 
briefly related the singular fact of his short reach of 
memory, the state in which he was brought to the ho- 
tel, &c., before they rejoined the ladies. 

Here the man was soon forgotten, for even when left 
alone after dinner, and entirely unspurred by their 
sympathetic questions, the two old “ prospecting 
pards,” as they called themselves, could find no better 
employment than laughing over those early days of 
camp life in the Rockies. 

Mr. Cony lie’s stay of a night prolonged itself indefi- 
nitely, in spite of his feeble efforts to break loose from 
the pleasant fetters thrown about him. 

“No, indeed! We cannot spare you,” laughed 
Honor, when he protested against thus taking them by 
storm. “ You remember the hurdy-gurdy man who 
could not be moved onward for less than a quarter, be- 
cause he so well understood ‘the vally o’ peace an’ 
quietness?’ Well, we know too well the vally of. a 
man in a remote country house to let him go, so long 
as chains can hold him. Why, Curtis hasn’t yawned 
three times since you came, and before I was really 
afraid of a dislocated jaw, it was stretched to its limit 
so often.” 

“ That’s right ! ” assented her husband. “ Think, 
Dwight, of never talking politics for two whole weeks. 
I declare, I used to try and get up an argument with 
old Andy, my coachman, but it was one-sided business 
— ‘Jess so, mars ’r I’se t’ ought so — dis long time. 
Neber’ll be no good luck till dey’s a change somewhar, 


THE DRIVE TO 8TANNARD HALL. 


303 


suah’s you bo’n ! ’ — peaceable, but scarcely interesting. 
Why can’t you just settle down and be quiet? Play 
it’s a hotel, as the youngsters say, and order up your 
meals whenever you don’t feel like coming down, but 
just let me feel there is a man and brother around to 
call on, when I need him.” 

So Dwight laughed and yielded, enjoying the unfore- 
seen visit to the utmost. When Stannard was busy 
with his farmer, or steward, which was every day for 
some hours, as he had been gone several months on the 
European trip, the guest’s fondness for children led him 
to the broad terrace, where they disported under the 
watchful eyes of old Sukey, and two younger maids 
under her orders. Here the ladies came with books 
and work, and grouped themselves picturesquely under 
the broad awnings, while great jars of palms and ole- 
anders hedged them in from the grassy slopes without, 
where stone steps led downward to a small artificial 
pond, bordered with iris and laurustinus, with the r^d 
roofs of quaint little bath and boat houses peeping 
above the shrubbery. 

Along the magnificent length and breadth of this 
terrace the little ones could race and shout, without 
disturbing the more quiet group at one end, their happy 
voices chiming in harmoniously with the graver tones 
of their elders. He was soon a great favorite with all, 
and found in each some special charm, which did more 
for him than climate, or medicines, for this homelike 
companionship was what the lonely man had been pin- 
ing for, these many months. Dwight was not a man 
who can live and thrive on business alone. He needed 
the softer, sweeter influences of home, of love, of baby 


304 


BUBBLES. 


wiles, of human tenderness and interest. Many years 
of a rough life in the mountains had not cured him of 
these yearnings, and his brief span of domestic life with 
a gentle, loving wife had only intensified them. He 
felt more at rest than lie had since her death. 

But with all his admiration for Honor’s gracious love- 
liness, and Mrs. Erlacken’s brilliant talk, he felt more 
thoroughly at home with Pliyllis, and sought her side 
often when she was alone. Something about her re- 
minded him of one he had known and lost years ago — 
not in looks, nor entirely in manner, perhaps — but in 
the thoughts to which she gave utterance ; a practical 
unworldliness, if we may so express it, that without 
being at all mystical, or unreal, yet kept ever present 
those higher motives and ideas which too many ignore 
on week days, and put on like an uncomfortable new 
gown on Sundays, to be gladly discarded the minute 
that holy day’s sun has set. 

When weary of the talk of others, he liked to sit 
near her and let her say what she would, not trying to 
reply. She rested him, and did not seem to demand 
something in return for what she gave, as most women 
do. She was not even afraid of long silences, and her 
sweet face seemed most expressive, often, when her 
lips were still. He had grown fond of little Marjorie, 
too, and would lift the gentle child to his knee, and 
talk to her in much the same desultory manner that he 
did to her mother, glad to see that both understood 
him, and enjoyed his society. 

When seated thus, one day, the other ladies having 
gone with Mr. Stannard for the promised call at the 
hotel, from which Phyllis had begged off because Mar- 


THE DRIVE TO 8TANNARD HALL. 


305 


jorie did not seem quite well, and rebelled at being left 
with Sukey, he said, as the little one lay contentedly 
upon his arm playing with his watch, 

“You did not name this baby for yourself, I see. 
We northerners are not so tenacious of family names 
and honors as these southern aristocrats, are we ? ” 

She answered his gently mocking smile with an un- 
derstanding one, for he was fond of teasing Stannard 
over his seemingly sudden jump from a miner’s cabin 
to ancestral wealth and estate, and answered, 

“ Possibly not ; still, in this case I did choose a family 
name — my sister’s.” 

. “ Ah ? It’s a pretty one, at least. I like yours, too. 
It reminds me of a quaint, old-fashioned garden, with 
a dame in flowered petticoats gathering marigolds and 
four-o’clocks. Marjorie sounds more patrician, but not 
so homey.” 

“ Is I homely ? ” asked the little one suddenly, roused 
to resentment at this comment. 

“ Indeed you are not, sweetheart ! ” laughed her 
friend, with a caress. “But that’s no matter, if you 
are good.” 

“ I mos’ degenerally am,” asserted Marjorie, with an 
air of such prim modesty that both laughed merrily to 
hear her. 

Presently Dwight asked, with lazy interest, 

“ Is your sister younger than yourself, Mrs. Kings- 
ley?” 

“ No, older ; and her child is a boy nearly four years 
ahead of my toddler in the world’s race. Such a bright 
little fellow, too! Darling, tell Mr. Conyne your 
cousin’s name, can’t you ? ” 

20 


306 


BUBBLES. 


“ Mine bestes’ tousin, mamma ? ” 

“ Yes, the one at Auntie Mabel’s.” 

“ It’s Olney, an’ I lubs him lots ! ” cried the child, 
enthusiastically. 

Mabel — Olney — the man looked astounded. Were 
these names to be always confronting him in future ? 
How was it possible that a strange clerk in a southern 
hotel, and an equally strange guest in a Virginian man- 
sion, should happen to speak those names in his pres- 
ence, when he had not seen, or heard, them for years ? 
His amazement was so apparent that Phyllis asked 
hastily, 

“Is Olney a familiar name to you? Perhaps 3^ou 
know Miss Mabel Olney ? ” 

“ Perhaps I know her ! ” He felt almost uncanny 
for the minute, as one might who comes upon a grave 
in a sunn3", commonplace meadow. “ I think I do. 
Tell me about her. She is still Miss Olney, then ? ” 

“ Oh, yes. It would seem strange to think of our 
dear Auntie Mab as married ! I have heard there was 
some one once, when she was very j^oung — but these 
heart stories are not to be lightly canvassed.” 

“ True,” gravely. “ Does she live at the old place, 
yet?” 

“ She does, indeed, and a hospitable, gracious chate- 
laine she makes. We have reason to know, for my sis- 
ter has been a welcome inmate for three or four years 
— she and her boy — and is made to feel at home in a 
way none of us can ever forget.” 

“ That is like her ! But are her parents not living ? ” 
“ Her mother is, but her father died before we knew 
her.” 


THE DRIVE TO 8TANNARD HALL. 


307 


“And slie is well — she is happy? ” 

“ She does good ; she is beloved and respected by all 
who know her ; she is useful and contented — is not that 
happiness?” 

“Ah ! perhaps, yet — is she still — beautiful ? ” 

“Very ! I never knew a finer, fairer face, for it ex» 
presses a noble soul.” 

“And you are related ? What is she to you ? ” 

“ Only by marriage. My sister was her nephew’s 
wife. Perhaps you knew her sister Maude ? ” 

“ I knew of her and the child. But you say ‘ was his 
wife ’ — is he dead, then ? ” 

Phyllis hesitated. She was not given to confiding 
in every one, as we know, but something in the earnest, 
uplifted face turned upon her, seemed to draw the 
truth out of her. 

“We do not know,” she said sadly. “He has — dis- 
appeared.” 

“Conyne’s eyes still questioned her, but with "so 
much respectful sympathy she continued softly, “ It is 
very sad, and I know little more than I have told you. 
He was troubled about business — there were complica- 
tions — and he went awaj^ We have never heard since. 
We are fearful that in a madness induced by despair he 
took his own life, poor boy ! ” 

“It is a dreadful thing to bear, yet how many have 
to go through with it ! I sometimes think that every 
family, in some remote fashion at least, has such shame 
and horror to endure. It is a calamity that cannot be 
lifted, except by God’s grace.” He was silent awhile, 
then said abruptly, “ Perhaps just so some young wife, 
or sister, is mourning a man I know. Let me see, have 


308 


BUBBLES. 


I spoken to you of a Mr. Martyn, clerk at the Cleve- 
land?” 

“ No, I think not.” She beckoned a maid who was 
passing, and said, “ Come and take the baby, Jane. 
She is almost asleep. There, darling, go with Jane and 
by -low.” 

Marjorie’s sleepy little protest soon died away as the 
mulatto girl carried her indoors, and Phyllis turned 
again to her vis-a-vis. 

“ Pardon my interruption, but I feared the sleepy lit- 
tle thing would tire you. I am glad to have her take a 
nap, for she did not sleep well last night. But you 
were speaking — the hotel clerk, did you say ? ” 

Yes, at the Cleveland where I’ve been stopping. 
He interested me from the first by his sadness and re- 
serve, and by his really polished manners. He was so 
different from his order. When, at length, I ventured 
to draw him out, he told me his singular experience. 
He remembers nothing back of the time he was brought 
there, dangerously ill with brain fever. During that 
long illness his memory was obliterated. Even his 
name was only known by its being found in his hat.” 

“And what was it?” asked Phyllis, whose inter- 
est was as quickly awakened for any unfortunate, as 
ever. 

“ David Martyn. He has become a great favorite in 
the hotel, and they call him Davy.” 

She leaned back with a little sigh, and let the dainty 
robe she was hemstitching lie neglected in her lap, 
while she gazed away to the blue line of hills, softly 
outlined in amethyst against the blue. 

“Poor fellow! Think what it must be to waken 


THE DRIVE TO STANNARD HALL. 


309 


among perfect strangers, with no memory of the past to 
guide one. What did he do ? How did he live ? ” 
Conyne went into the details of his money, and en- 
suing labors, then added, 

“ But he does not suffer as we naturally think he 
would. He has no regrets, no longings. All those 
went with his memory ; don’t you see ? ” 

She looked at him musingly. 

“ True. It recalls the theory of a friend of mine, 
about death. She contends that we have lived, as we 
shall continue to live, immortally. Yet each life is a 
new and complete one, because memory is left behind, 
and prepares one if well lived, for a higher, though so 
far as consciousness is concerned it is final and com- 
plete. She claims that one cannot yearn for friends 
one has forgotten, therefore each existence begins hap- 
pily, and may end as we make it. But I cannot agree 
with her. It seems a cold philosophy, and not of 
Christ. I want my own, and when I remember that 
word in Isaiah ‘ Can a mother forget her child ? ’ I 
answer emphatically ‘ No ! ’ and cling the more strongly 
to the dear ones who have become a part of my very 
being. Surely God gave us the memory, and will give 
the means to satisfy its demands ! ” 

“Yet He gives and He takes away, and still blessed 
must be His name,” mused Conyne. “ Well, we can 
only wait to learn, and meanwhile know that ‘ what- 
ever is, is right,’ because of His will. But to return to 
Martyn. What has struck me as so singular is, that the 
names which occasionally float across his consciousness 
are those familiar to both of us which you mentioned to- 
day — Mabel and Olney. He puts an aunt before ” 


310 


BUBBLES. 


He stopped short and looked at her with dilating 
eyes, while she, half risen, returned his gaze in kind. 
The same idea had startled them both. 

“Tell me,” she whispered hoarsely, “when was he 
brought here — how long ago? ” 

“ About four years,” he answered. 

Her gaze deepened. 

“ Four years. Do you know the month ? ” 

“No.” 

“ And his name is surely Marty n ? ” 

“ That name was found in his hat. He did not 
know it himself.” 

She sank back again. 

“ It cannot be ; it would be too strange ! And yet I 
shall not rest till I have seen this David Martyn. Tell 
me, I beg, just how he looks.” 

Conyne attempted to describe the man in the witless 
way most people do, even where accuracy is supremely 
necessary, giving the height, build and color, details a 
woman can seldom grasp because she has no eye for 
proportion, but failing to mention the one salient pecul- 
iarity, such as an odd twist or wrinkle, which to an in- 
timate acquaintance would describe him at a word. 
When it was finished Phyllis shook her head blankly. 

“ I don’t know how tall he was. I’m sure, but dark, 
deep-set eyes and grey hair? Poor Romayne had wide- 
open, frank blue eyes and chestnut curls, when his hair 
was long enough for one to see them. And he couldn’t 
be grey ! Why, he would not be out of his twenties 
yet.” 

“ I have a suspicion this man is younger than he 
looks, for sometimes, when animated, which is seldom, 


THE DRIVE TO STANNARD HALL. 


311 


his face takes on a really boyish look. But, as a gen- 
eral thing, one might believe him forty, at least.” 

“ Trouble ages one,” mused Phyllis. “Well, I must 
see this man, anyhow, though we have been deceived 
so many times that I hate to tempt disappointment 
again. Could we not arrange a meeting without let- 
ting him suspect our motive ? ” 

“Certainly. I will get Stannard to help plan it. 
But Mrs. Kingsley, do you ever hear from Ma — Miss 
Olney?” 

“ Yes, occasionally. She sometimes adds a postscript 

to Marjorie’s letters. Shall I tell her ” 

“ About meeting me ? No, no, no ! Promise me 
you will not, Mrs. Kingsley ! I fear it would be most 
unwelcome news.” 

His face saddened, and Phyllis turned to him with a 
subtle smile, whose meaning he could not fathom. 

“ Mr. Conyne, what makes you think so ? Your first 
name is Dwight, I believe ? ” 

“ Yes, why ? ” giving her a wondering glance. 

The smile had broadened into one gently reminis- 
cent, now, but Phyllis did not at once answer. Woman- 
like she had divined the feeling Mr. Conyne enter- 
tained for Mabel Olney before he had finished his first 
rapid questions regarding her, and was now considering 
the advisability of in any way interfering. She did not 
believe in meddling, yet no one so thoroughly sympa- 
thetic and in love with her fellow beings as she, can 
help a desire to right wrongs, or to heal heart wounds, 
when possible. So, at length, she said slowly, 

“ I hope I am not betraying confidence ” — here she 
looked keenly into the face opposite, and was glad to 


312 


BUBBLES, 


feel assured anew how true a face it was — “ but as you 
are Dwight Conyne you must be the original of — what 
I saw.” 

“ What? Do tell me ! It cannot harm anyone, I do 
assure you, and it may do me a world of good ; that is, 
if it be something pleasant.” 

“ You must be the judge of that — if I tell you.” She 
studied him a minute, then with a bright frank smile, 
said gaily, “ Something tells me to trust you, and I 
will! It was once when I was visiting at Fairhaven, 
and unexpected guests arrived for over night. In con- 
sequence, Aunt Mab, as we all call her, had to take me 
into her own room, and as I was not feeling well I re- 
tired early. An hour or so later I was awakened — ah I 
it is abusing confidence ; I cannot tell you ! ” 

“ You must ! You must ! For mercy’s sake, Mrs. 
Kingsley. You don’t know all this may mean to 
me! Wait, and I will tell you something. I loved 
Mabel Olney with all my heart, once, and we were 
separated. I have never forgotten her, never ceased to 
hold her memory dear. If I could be assured she still 
remembers me, even with friendliness, I could rest con- 
tented. If you have good news for me, let me have it ; 
if it is — the other kind — then I had best know it now, 
before I let the renewal of old memories take me too 
far. You will tell me now, I feel sure.” 

Mabel bowed her head, and continued gravely, 

“ I think it is good news. I awoke, I say, and she 
was in the room, sitting near my bed and reading a 
letter. It looked old and worn, and there were tears 
in her eyes. I felt I must repress my first impulse to 
ask what was grieving her. I knew it was no new 


THE DRIVE TO STANNARD HALL. 


313 


trouble. She looked sadder, yet sweeter, than I had 
ever seen her. She did not know I had wakened and 
I lay still with half closed eyes. Presently some sound 
startled her. She rose and went to the door, dropping 
the letter upon the little table by the bed, and as it lay 
there, I plainly saw the large, bold signature — it was 
‘Dwight Con I could not see the rest.” 

She stopped, blushing and tremulous. Had she done 
right, or was she all wrong in telling this, which had 
never passed her lips before ? 

Mr. Conyne rose quickly, and grasped her hand a 
moment with a murmured, “God bless you!” then 
hastened away down the terrace steps, and along a 
path leading to a fringe of woods on the edge of the 
plantation, and she saw no more of him for hours. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


NEW GLIMPSES INTO OLD HOMES. 

You doubtless have noticed that Mr. Conyne did not 
mention to Phyllis the third suggestive name Martyn 
had used, and the omission did not occur to him until 
later, when he could only account for it, himself, by 
the fact that he had been so taken up with the thought 
of his old love that even the strange coincidences con- 
nected with the clerk had gone quite out of his mind, 
when the old memories rose in clouds — light day-dawn 
clouds of rosy hue — before him. When he met Phyllis, 
next morning, he said gravely, 

“ Do you wish to meet Mr. Martyn to-day ? If so, 
I will bring him here.” 

Phyllis thought a moment. 

“I cannot believe, from your description, that he 
could be our Romayne. The fact of his recalling those 
two names is indeed peculiar, but neither of them is so 
uncommon that he may not have heard it elsewhere. 
I remember once seeing my Anson's whole name, even 
to the initial, in a paper as a man just arrested for va- 
grancy. We read it together, and Anson said it made 
him feel as if the Mr. Hyde part of himself might have 
gotten loose and be roaming around the country ! You 
see, we have followed so many false leads, only to come 

upon bitter disappointment every time that ” She 

314 


NEW GLIMPSES INTO OLD HOMES. 


315 


stopped and dropped into a brown study, which pres- 
ently Dwight felt it best to interrupt. 

“ I did not tell you,” he said in a gentle tone, “ for 
strangely enough it slipped my mind, but there was a 
third name he recalled. It was ‘ Marjorie.’ ” 

She turned with a wide, startled look. 

“ Is it possible ? I confess it has seemed strange to 
me that her name, of all others, should not return to 
him, for Romayne was very fond of my sister. This 
must be more than coincidence ! Yes, I will see him 
to-day. Bring him here, if possible, without his know- 
ing why, and be quick ! I cannot rest, now, till I know 
the truth.” 

But it was some hours before Dwight could arrange 
a meeting according to her wishes. He first sought out 
the landlord, Mr. Pritchard, and talked with him some 
time, taking him partially into his confidence ; and 
planned with him the errand upon which Martyn should 
be sent, in company of Conyne, to Stannard Hall. 
During the conversation the latter asked many ques- 
tions, but elicited little more information than he al- 
ready had. Pritchard felt certain of but one thing — 
the man’s name. It was found not only in his hat, but 
his linen and a solitaire ring he wore, subsequently sold 
for his support, were plainly marked with an “ M.” It 
occurred to the questioner that this might stand equally 
for Matteson, whom he felt certain he had found, but 
he let the other do the talking, and calmly drew his 
own conclusions. It was quite certain the stray pas- 
senger had been kindly treated, both on board the train 
and afterward, and that there were no evidences of foul 
play about him unless he might perhaps have been as- 


316 


BUBBLES. 


saulted and robbed of merely his loose change, though 
that seemed a foolish theory, as there was not a mark 
upon him to indicate as much. 

More likely he had started from home — wherever that 
might be — on a business, or pleasure trip, possibly be- 
cause of failing health ; had been overcome by disease 
suddenly, and having no letters or papers upon his per- 
son to identify him, had dropped entirely out of his old 
life into a new. 

When the landlord was asked if at, or near, the time of 
Martyn’s arrival he had seen no advertisements describ- 
ing a missing man, he said, 

“ No, I never did. Fact is, I seldom see a northern 
paper anyhow, unless some guest happens to bring one, 
and that was not the season for guests, I remember. 
Still, if there had been a dozen such advertisements I 
would not have thought to read them. Somehow, from 
the first, I took my man to be one without any ties — 
just a wanderer over the globe, you know, like lots of 
these foreigners.” 

“ Foreigners ? ” asked Conyne. “ How is that ? ” 

“ Why, didn’t you know ? When he was convalescing 
he talked the strangest jargon ever was. We couldn’t 
make head or tail to it. He had to learn our speech 
from the beginning, but even then he has never spoken 
like we do. Hes no southerner. I’ll wager, nor Ameri- 
can either.” 

Conyne merely nodded and did not pursue this 
theory. Remembering the fact mentioned by Marty n, 
that he had to learn to read, like a child, he also re- 
called other cases of intense and long-continued fevers 
he had known, where even speech was nearly obliter- 


NEW GLUIPSES INTO OLD HOMES. 


317 


ated, and a language peculiar to the patient, used all 
through the convalescence. If such had been the case 
with Martyn, in reality Romayne, no wonder they had 
believed him a foreigner. Yet why, when speech was 
relearned should it come as it did to the infant, with 
northern vocalization entirely? 

It was a problem too mighty for any man’s solving, 
Conyne thought, and dismissed it as the clerk, grave 
and courteous, came to join him, saying simply, 

“ Mr. Pritchard says I am to go’with you to Stannard 
Hall, and take a line to the steward. He has kindly 
given me the rest of the day off, and says, if they treat 
me well, to stay it out there.” 

He smiled in his slow way, and Conyne said briskly, 

“ It’s a good idea, and I’ll vouch for my friends’ hos- 
pitality, there. Stannard Hall doors never close, I 
think. The change will do you good, Martyn. You 
are looking pale.” 

“i haven’t felt quite well, lately. There is a 
strange ringing in my head and brilliant flashes before 
my eyes. I see the names oftener, too,” lowering his 
voice to a confidential tone as they strolled out to the 
road, “ and once or twice the faces have been so plain 
I almost caught them before they vanished. I think 
your talk has done it, and I don’t know whether to 
thank you, or not,” turning his pale face around with 
a deprecating glance. 

Dwight answered at random, and they talked of 
other subjects, each one’s thoughts straying further 
than the little journey of a mile, or two, seemed to 
warrant. 

Meanwhile, at Stannard, the family had been in- 


318 


BUBBLES. 


formed of wliat was pending, and Honor was conduct- 
ing Phyllis to a little sitting-room of her own, just off 
her husband’s library, saying as she threw its door wide, 

“ You shall meet him here, Phyl dear. No one will 
interrupt you, and you will be able to scan his features 
closely while you talk with him. Mr. Conyne will 
bring him in, as if carelessly, and the rest of us ladies 
will be occupied elsewhere for the time, you under- 
stand. The minute you want us you can just throw 
the door open into the corridor, and we will know the 
interview is over.” 

“ Thank you. Honor. Oh ! if it only could be he.” 
Honor’s voice was far from hopeful. “ I believe poor 
Marjorie mourns him more and more all the time. She 
has learned composure, of course, but there are times 
when it all comes over her with such a desolate yearn- 
ing that she cannot conceal her sufferings. And when 
little Olney presists in asking after his papa whom, 
oddly enough, he has never forgotten, she feels as if it 
is more than she can bear. Even the certainty of 
Romayne’s death would, I think, be a relief, for it is 
this terrible uncertainty that is so wearing. She has 
told me that she never hears a sudden sound, like the 
click of a gate, a quick tread on the walk, or the rapid 
whir of approaching wheels, that her heart does not 
stand still in sickening expectation, only to be suc- 
ceeded by cold shudders of loneliness and despair.” 

As Phyllis ended, almost in tears. Honor took her 
hand affectionately. 

“ It seems a great calamity, and almost insupportable 
grief, but, dear heart, do you realize what a changed 
woman it has made of Marjorie? In her patient. 


NEW GLIMPSES INTO OLD HOMES. 


319 


pastoral life, content with the simplest pleasures, and 
living only for her boy, it is hard to realize she is the 
gay debutante of a few winters ago, whose reckless 
worldliness, extravagance, and beauty, dazzled society 
for a time. But, forgive me, she was your sister just 
the same ! ” 

“ Yes, and I loved her well, in spite of all, but she is 
changed. I see that as plainly as an3mne. Who would 
have believed our lazy little Marjie could have at- 
tempted and made so much of anything, as she has of 
that ‘ truck garden,’ as she laughingly calls it ? She not 
only has made it pay, but is actually laying aside money. 
Then, these literary contributions are going to give her 
a standing in the world she never would have dreamed 
of in the old days. All she can send are being snapped 
up by the agricultural journals. You see, Marjorie has 
a just appreciation of what she can do. She never at- 
tempts too much. So what she claims to know she 
understands through and through, until there is no 
point left obscure. Her articles on the propagation of 
the rose are so complete and careful they well may be- 
come a standard authority, and I have known both 
florists and agriculturists to come long distances, in 
order to learn how a woman can do so much with an 
acre of ground, and only ” 

“ Brains,” laughed Honor. 

“ Thank you! It’s true. She was as ignorant as I, 
once, but she made it her business to learn and — but 
hark ! Are those footsteps coming this way ? ” 

“ Yes, they are. I will fly. Heaven bless you, dear,” 
and Honor slipped through one door just as the other 
was opened by the butler to admit the expected callers. 


320 


BUBBLES. 


Pliyllis paled visibly as she glanced past Mr. Conyne 
to the slender figure behind him, so different from the 
vigorous one she remembered as belonging to Romayne, 
and for a moment she stared blankly, feeling this man 
was an utter stranger. But as the deep-set eyes met 
her own with some surprise at her emotion, they 
lighted up with a quick, flashing glory, and thus trans- 
formed, she recognized Romayne, while he cried out in 
a hoarse, agitated voice, 

“ Phyllis ! ” 

She ran to his outstretched hands, and even as their 
fingers met and clasped, the light faded, the sad, hope- 
less, blank expression returned. He looked at her 
dazedly, then slowly removing one hand from hers, 
passed it across his eyes with a weary, puzzled move- 
ment. 

“I beg pardon,” he said in a lifeless voice. “I 
thought you reminded me of somebody, but it is gone. 
I can’t remember just who it was you made me think 
of, now. I hope you will excuse me.” 

Phyllis exchanged an eloquent glance with Conyne 
as she said tremulously, 

“Let me jog your memory a little. Romayne Matte- 
son, you recognized your wife Marjorie’s sister, Phyllis 
Dunlap Kingsley. Surely you know me, now? ” 

A swift flush mounted to his very forehead as he 
stood gazing at her, his eyes contracted almost to 
straight slits by the intensity of his inward search- 
ing. 

“ The names,” he whispered, “ the names ! But who 
is Marjorie, and who is Phyllis? And where too is 
Olney — ^just Olney, without the Mabel before it? I 


NEW GLIMPSES INTO OLD HOMES. 


321 


ache for that — that baby, it seems to me. I reach out 
and almost grasp — oh ! who is it — who?'' 

“It is your baby, Romayne — ^your own little boy 
whom you left sleeping in his white bed, and ” 

“Wait! Wait!” Martyn was clasping his temples 
with a hard pressure, his brows corrugated with the 
effort to think. “ I see it — the white bed — the dim 
room with some trouble brooding in it, but the baby — 
boy — describe him ! Bring his face to me again, if 
it is true, and make me remember who these are that 
haunt my dreams.” 

Phyllis was quick to respond to the strange, vision- 
ary mood controlling him. She knew beyond perad- 
venture that this was Romayne, though so changed, so 
aged, with such darkened, shadowed eyes, that she 
might have passed him by a dozen times in a chance 
meeting without a suspicion of his identity. She threw 
her inner vision back to the night he had disappeared., 
and began a slow, accurate bit of word painting, which 
was so realistic that even Dwight Conyne could see it 
all. The small, simply-furnished nursery, the stupid 
foreign girl, the white bed with her cot near by, and 
the beautiful child of three with his yellow curls 
tangled upon the pillow as he tossed and moaned in 
feverish unrest. She pictured relentlessly tlie wife in 
her gay attire, urging him to haste, and his own reluc- 
tance to go and leave the little one, for she had heard it 
all from Marjorie’s remorseful lips more than once. 

Martyn, the clerk, listened with a sort of desperate 
intensity, and by degrees the mists began to clear 
away. He saw, he partly felt tlie scene. The child 
was his own, but the man — try as he would he could 


21 


322 


BUBBLES. 


not identify that figure with himself. The wliole thing 
was unreal, too impalpable to grasp and hold. He 
looked up helplessly. 

“You make me see it and believe it, but I can’t take 
it into the very core of my being, as I ought to. It is 
as if I were looking on from the outside. I can’t knoiv 
that man was I, and that I am not David Martyn, but 
Romayne — Romayne what?” 

“ Matteson,” put in Conyne, seeing that anxiet}^ had 
almost bereft Phyllis of the power of speech. “ Is there 
nothing familiar in that name ? ” 

“ Yes, I realize now that I have heard it before, but 
when I try to grasp the consciousness of it, to make it 
a part of me, to make it live in me as these last four 
years do, I cannot — I cannot 1 ” and the face grew sad 
and uneager once more. 

Phyllis turned her head away. She wa^ blinded 
with tears, and sick at heart. Was it thus Romayne 
must come back to those who loved him ? Not even 
knowing himself as he really was, and only grop- 
ing vaguely after those nearest to him, once? It 
seemed too bitter for belief. His memory must be re- 
stored, or what happiness could come of the long-de- 
layed meeting with his family? 

She motioned Dwight to follow her, and left the room. 

“ What shall we do ? ” she asked brokenly, as she 
faced him in the library adjoining. “ This man is Ro- 
mayne, and yet a stranger. Could his return, as he is 
now, bring happiness to either himself, or his family ? 
I can see no way out of it.” 

Dwight stood in silent thoughtfulness a while, then 
uttered a long-drawn sigh. 


NEW GLIMPSES INTO OLD HOMES. 


323 


“If happiness is all; but is it? I once thought it 
was the aim of existence, and fairly demanded it at the 
dagger’s point — and I did not get it ! Now, I know 
there are other things — I know happiness counts for 
little in the scheme of our existence. What is the 
right thing, for instance ? ” Phyllis flushed. 

“ How often I have to be reminded ! You have hit 
upon the one solution of the problem, and it is so 
simple I am ashamed. The right thing is to get Ro- 
mayne home again, and leave the rest to time — and 
God.’’ 

“ I believe so. And, Mrs. Kingsley, I want to take 
him home, may I? ” 

She could not mistake the meaning glow in his face, 
the tremor in his vpice. 

“ Surely,” she answered at once, then with one of 
her quick transitions to gentle gaiety, “but be careful, 
or I shall charge you with inconsistency. Are you not 
seeking happiness, my friend?” and the sad smile that 
answered her started the tears again, as he murmured, 

“ Yes — or black despair.” 

It was decided that Phyllis should write to her hus- 
band and tell him the whole story, leaving him to ar- 
range the details. For, after nearly seven years of 
married life, she still had a way of referring everything 
to Anson, and never regretted it later. 

He was now, by the way, one of the best known 
lawyers of his city, with a reputation not wholly local 
— a reputation which brought him large estates to set- 
tle, orphans’ interests to guard, trust funds to handle, 
points of equity and honor to decide, honest, high- 


324 


BUBBLES, 


minded advice to give, unfortunates to succor ; in a 
word, the business which comes to an attorney who 
uses the machinery of the law, not to his own advant- 
age, or in order to protect rascality, but to preserve 
order, enforce right, conduce to peaceful living and just 
measure to all. Anson had neither forgotten, nor de- 
parted from, the simple creed he repeated to Phyllis 
before their marriage, and even his enemies pronounced 
him a just man. Those who loved him, went further. 
They maintained he was tender, generous, liberal, 
where he could be so with right on his side, though in- 
flexible against the wrong; and so proved against all 
bribery that he was often called by his colleagues 
“ Kingsley, the Ironclad.” 

In their comfortable modern home, presided over by 
the well-loved mother during his wife’s absence, he 
could, and did, still turn from his busiest case, his most 
lucrative briefs, to interest himself in the least thing 
wife, mother, or child wished to consult him about, and 
they found his advice always just what they required, 
for it was never given without thought, and it was 
always backed by his own best help and care. 

So, after much writing to and fro, matters were 
finally arranged to the satisfaction of all concerned. It 
was decided that Conyne should come to the city with 
Phyllis and little Marjorie, bringing the recovered 
Romayne, and after a rest of a day or two at the 
Kingsley home, the two men should go down to Fair- 
haven alone, a letter from Anson preparing the way 
for them. Martyn, or as we must now call him, Ro- 
mayne, consented to all that was planned for him, and 
spent hours with Phyllis trying to recall the past, but 


NEW GLUIPSES INTO OLD HOMES. 


325 


it was only at intervals lie could grasp anything defi- 
nite, and he was borne along by the others in a daze of 
hopes, fears, and wonderment, like some hapless sea- 
voyager on a drifting wreck, uncertain of anything ex- 
cept the present misery. 

For Romayne suffered physically as well as mentally. 
The symptoms previously mentioned only increased as 
the days went by, and at times something would seem 
to snap in his poor head, leaving him in a blank for a 
few moments, to be followed by fever, lassitude, and 
loss of appetite. 

Anson, after a talk with Mrs. Kingsley (his mother) 
thought better of writing all this weighty news, and 
decided to run down to Fairhaven himself, before the 
travelers should arrive, and tell what he had to say. 
Bat business that could not be put off kept him en- 
chained until the last minute, when, finding there was 
going to be no possibility of the trip, he sat up late one 
night in his home library to write the letter, making it 
long and full, then laid it prominently on the hall table 
for the maid to hand to the postman next morning, 
after the custom of the house. 

The next day came in with cold, clouds, and an un- 
seasonably late fall of snow, which lightly covered the 
ground, The maid arose late, felt stupid with over- 
sleep, and was in a hurry. She snatched up the collec- 
tion of letters and papers awaiting the postman, and 
starting obliviously down the slippery stone steps to 
meet him, came near being precipitated to the bottom. 
As she flung out her hand to grasp the railing she did 
not notice that one envelope slipped from the bundle 
down into the area below, where it lay quite concealed 


326 


BUBBLES. 


in the white snow. Tims no one was ever able to ex- 
plain the fate of that letter — all that they knew was 
that it never reached its destination, and never was re- 
turned from Uncle Sam’s mailing department at Wash- 
ington, where all good letters go. 

On the morning it should have reached Fairhaven 
the family were gathered about the library fire, made 
necessary by the sudden cold snap, placidly unconscious 
of any impending change outside of those our uncer- 
tain northern climate is ever treating us to. Appar- 
ently all was well with them, and to a careless on-looker 
they looked prosperous and contented enough, yet in 
this age of self-repression who can tell ? The man 
whose millions are trembling in the balance of a court’s 
judgment, this very day, can be seen lighting his after- 
breakfast cigar and exchanged jokes with his neighbor 
in the street car ; that other, over whom broods a shame 
that when known will engulf him in ruin, calml}^ reads 
the paper and seems absorbed in the news from Cuba; 
that woman who is fighting a divorce suit which will 
leave her without home, family, or character, stands in 
the milliner’s window critically examining a hat, as if 
life depended upon her selection. We all walk the 
edges of our pits of sorrow and despair with as erect 
and calm a mien as if we were on the broad road of 
safety — and may God help us to keep up the semblance 
of bravery, for when that goes we shall go with it, and 
be routed in utter confusion ! In the slang of the day 
it might be known as “bluffing fate,” yet those who 
look deeper into the sore heart of humanity may give 
it a nobler word, with a sincere respect. For, at least, 
we bear our own burden and sometimes help with an- 


NEW GLIBIPSES INTO OLD HOLIES. 


327 


other’s, not lying clown to whine and cry and let the 
billows roll over us. There is something fine, after all, 
in our American bluff, but something far finer in that 
submission which counts with childlike faith upon the 
help that has been promised all who are heavy laden, 
and, knowing the burden to be shared, ceases to feel its 
heaviest weight, and thus can smile and triumph over 
all. 

Marjorie’s face, as she sat busily writing at a desk, 
was serenely pensive, and beautiful with a charm the 
old Marjorie had never known. Something in her very 
pose suggested decision and self-restraint, while the 
listless, fine-lady airs she had once liked to assume, 
were gone entirely. Mabel, sitting near with a bit of 
sewing while she talked in a low tone to little Olney, 
who was leaning against her knee, much interested, 
was so exactly her old self as to need no second look, 
while the boy had grown beyond recognition, and was 
so startlingly like his father, when at the same age, 
that Mrs. Olney oftener called him Roinayne than 
Olney. As to herself, she had altered more, even, than 
the child. She had grown young and fair, her face 
having almost outgrown its old peevish puckers in her 
many new interests and cares. She still used a cane 
when out of doors, but her step indoors was neither 
feeble nor halting, the slight limp being scarcely no- 
ticeable. 

“ More snow, Olney ! ” she cried briskly, as she 
entered from the hall, “ and, if you don’t hurry, Rachel 
will be whisking it off with her broom, I’m afraid.” 

The boy turned, with his bright, frank glance, so 
like his father’s in the boyhood days. 


328 


BUBBLES. 


“ But grandma, Aunt Mab’s telling me a thing tliat’ll 
help in my joggerfy lesson, and how can I do two 
things at once?” 

“ You can’t, dear. Onl}^ I knew you wanted to earn 
some money ” 

“ Yes, and the ‘ thing ’ is ended now,” put in Mabel, 
“so run along, little man, and earn your quarter before 
it is swept from your path.” 

Olney hastened, anxious not to miss the opportunity, 
for he was already learning the worth of a dollar, and 
how much toil and care its hundred cents may mean. 
Never again would Mrs. Olney, or Mabel, smother the 
sturdier qualities of budding manhood by over indul- 
gence, and lack of firmness. Little Olney had to earn 
all the spending money he had, and when it was lav- 
ishly squandered must bear its loss till new toils could 
replace the sum. 

His little account book was kept with method, if not 
great neatness, and audited b}^ mother, auntie, or 
grandma every week. If the ledger showed a balance 
in his favor, the account to his credit was increased by 
a few cents of “ good conduct money,” to be added to 
the principal. If there was a deficit, and he was in 
debt to anyone, the money was deducted from his 
earnings, until the whole sum was fully paid, both 
principal and interest. 

Thus Olney learned in childhood what many only 
painfully appreciate through years of loss and hardship, 
that money saved may be soon doubled, but once 
squandered entails a greater loss than itself; and, 
thoroughly equipped with the first principals of finance 
and prudence he would be able to grapple with those 


NEW GLUIPSES INTO OLD H03IES. 


329 


stern, uncompromising problems which present them- 
selves to every man. 

Besides this, he was learning habits of industry, 
method, and promptness, as well as developing his 
physical strength and endurance by healthy outdoor 
exercise. For work and play were judiciously mingled 
in his training, and both rewards and punishments 
meted out with justness and decision. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


SPLINTERED LIVES MADE WHOLE. 

When the boy, his task finished, his quarter safely 
deposited in his own iron bank which could not 
“ break,” had bounded off to school, the group sat in 
silence for a time till Marjorie, with a little yawn, rose 
and stretched herself, then approached the fire, reach- 
ing out a neat little foot to the welcome blaze. 

“ How the cold penetrates, these damp spring days ! ” 
she observed. “ I’ve been writing of summer things 
till it is quite a shock to look out and see the snow.” 

“ Then don’t look for an hour or two, and it will be 
gone,” returned Mabel cheerily. “ See how brightly 
the sun is shining out! Is your article nearly fin- 
ished?” 

“Almost. I had to hunt some time for a certain 
mem. which I had thought w’as in last summer’s book, 
but proved to be in one two years old, and it detained 
me. 

Mabel looked up with an approving glance. 

“ How useful your system has proved, Marjie ! ” 

“ Hasn’t it ? I builded better than I knew when, to 
jog my own treacherous memory, I commenced those 
daily notes of my observations in my garden. What 
money could buy that little stack of books that now 
prove my stock in trade ? After all, one may grub and 
study years on years, yet one moment of keen, clear, 
330 


SPLINTERED LIVES MADE WHOLE. 


331 


thoughtful observation beats them all. I take no man’s 
or woman’s word on Mr. Curculio, or Mrs. Aphis. I 
study the busy little pests in their own leafy homes, 
and I know their habits as I know my own ; so when 
some learned writer dares to say what is not so, I 
calmly set him at naught and defy the critics — for I 
know / ” 

She spoke in a bright, animated voice, her cheeks 
flushing prettily, then dropped her gaze to the heart of 
the red coals, and the light slowly faded. “ It’s well to 
know anything in this world — even worms,” she added 
in a weary voice. “ It took me long enough to learn.” 

“ It hasn’t taken your whole life,” said Mrs. Olney 
with a kindly smile. “ It rather shames me at times to 
see how youth teaches age. Mabel, dear, why do you 
sew steadily on when the sun has come out so warmly? 
Plaven’t you any errand to take you out to-day ? ” 

“ Yes, I always have errands,” she laughed. “I store 
them up as Marjie does her garden notes, or Olney his 
pennies. I intend to visit that sick child on Hachett 
street on a King's daughter errand, and dispose of a 
part of those berries Anson sent down ; then I must 
call on young Mr. Rutter and speak to him about the 
C. & O. dividends, now his father is laid by ” — for good 
Mr. Rutter, senior, was housed up with rheumatism — 
“ and, well — I can’t think of anything else, now.” 

“ Perhaps I can scare up something for you to do,” 
laughed Marjorie, going back to her work at the desk, 
“ I shall probably need stamps, or paper — I always do.” 

Mabel was, however, hindered by one thing and an- 
other until after three o’clock, and stood in the hall in 
her becoming tailor-made suit, about to put on hat and 


332 


BUBBLES. 


gloves, when Olnej came bounding in from school, his 
face in a glow from his rapid run. 

“ Hooray ! auntie, I got 100 in joggerfy and told your 
story, and teacher patted my head when I said good- 
night, and tolled me I’d been a nice boy. What d’you 
think of that ? ” 

“ I think it’s fine, Olney — couldn’t be better ! ” 

“Where’s grandma and mamma? I want to tell 
’em right off, quick ! ” and he sprang by her toward the 
library, she following more leisurely, hat in hand, to 
enjoy his pleasure. 

Both the others were duly impressed, and ready with 
praises. Marjorie lifted the child to her knee to see if 
his feet were damp, and grandma, saying she thought 
the occasion demanded a treat, went to fumble in her 
work-table drawer for bonbons, when the door bell 
sounded sharply. 

“ I’ll go ! ” cried Olney, who liked the service, and 
struggling out from his mother’s hold he ran past his 
aunt in the doorway, in haste to admit the callers, who- 
ever they might be. 

Believing they were expected, Dwight Conyne felt a 
keen disappointment when a hasty glance around the 
sleepy station house showed him only one woman in 
waiting, who, well loaded with bundles, babies, and an 
anxious look, could by no possibilit}'^ be an Olney. 
After consulting a moment with Romayne, who was 
gazing about him with an air of dreamy absorption, 
they decided to walk to the house, which was not far 
distant. 

The day had grown rapidly warmer, the snow was 


SPLINTERED LIVES MADE WHOLE. 


333 


gone, and evidences of the late northern springtime 
were on every hand. Romayne did not try to talk, 
but let his gaze roam rapidly from point to point, as 
they silently walked along, till suddenly he stopped 
and gripped his companion by the arm. A sharp turn 
had brought them near the gates of Fairhaven. Be- 
yond the light iron fence stretched the broad expanse 
of lawn, outlined into a great horse-shoe by the curving 
drive. Still beyond rose the house, broadly veranded, 
and well diversified by odd windows, gabled roofs, and 
many projections, its air of prosperous hospitality as 
definite as the characteristics of a well-dressed woman. 
All its adjuncts and surroundings were typical of the 
ancestral home, grown out of wealth, ease and leisure, 
which conforms with conservative reluctance to new 
fashions, always retaining certain old-time peculiarities, 
as the woman retains her old laces and the quaint set- 
ting of ancestral gems, considering them the more val- 
uable because of their antiquity. 

Romayne, as we have said, stood still and gazed 
ahead, with a forceful grip upon Conyne’s arm, the lat- 
ter waiting breathlessly to hear his next word. Pres- 
ently a great light came into his hollow eyes. 

“It’s — it’s home!'' he muttered. “ It isn’t a dream 
— I’m awake. It’s home, at last ! ” and dragging the 
older man after him, Romayne sped onward with boy- 
ish eagerness. 

Yet, by the time the door was reached, the momen- 
tary glow was over, and he stood trembling as if in an 
ague, gazing blankly at the portal, utterly confounded 
by his own enthusiasm. 

At Conyne’s ring the door flew wide, and a laughing 


334 


BUBBLES. 


boy appecared in the aperture. Before the former could 
speak Romayne leaped forward, with a shrill cry, to- 
ward little Olney. 

“It is myself!” he cried. “I have found myself!'^ 
then began to sway and totter, so that Conyne had just 
time to catch him as he fell unconscious. 

Mabel, startled by the sound, turned in the inner 
doorway, then ran forward, wondering at this strange 
invasion, for which she was entirely unprepared, while 
Mrs. Olney and Marjorie, thinking onl}" that some well- 
known guest had arrived over whom Olney was hilari- 
ously noisy, awaited developments within. 

Conyne was stooping over his burden as Mabel 
reached him. 

“ Here, here ! ” she cried to his back. “ There is a 
couch in the drawing-room — can we get him to it ? ” 
and she at once, with her ready helpfulness, began to 
assist in the removal, never dreaming for an instant 
that these were other than strangers, one of whom had 
been suddenly overcome by illness, and thus sought aid 
and shelter. 

They laid him on the couch and Mabel, looking up 
for the first time, met the other bearer’s gaze fixed full 
upon her in a sad, questioning, disappointed gaze. 
Hers was all wonder, until a dawning comprehension 
that was almost rapture told him with blessed convic- 
tion that he was welcome, at least, if not expected. 
He broke out abruptly. 

“ Mabel, didn’t you hear ? The letter — surely — I 
have brought him home. I ” 

He stopped, for she interrupted with a low cry. 

“Dwight, Dwight, is it youf’’^ 


SPLINTERED LIVES 3IADE WHOLE. 


335 


“ Yes, yes, no one else surely, and ” 

“ Auntie, why don’t you give that sick man some- 
pin ? ” cried little Olney excitedly. “ And shall I run 
for mamma, or the doctor ? ” 

Thus recalled to the present, the two turned shame- 
facedly to their charge, for however sublimated our 
minds may become in supreme moments like this, the 
gross body, frail organ of earthly ills that it is, always 
calls us down again with some need, or ailment. Mabel 
sent Olney for water, and caught up a jeweled bottle 
of salts from somewhere, while Dwight fanned the pa- 
tient with his hat, and tried to realize where he was, 
and what he ought to do. 

As Mabel knelt close beside the stranger, compre- 
hending nothing save the blissful fact of Dwight’s 
presence, he leaned over her to ask again, 

“ Mabel, did you hear — do you know anything?” 

“ Not much,” said Mabel obliviously, with the salts 
bottle trembling above the invalid’s nose, “ only — only 
you.” 

A swift smile chased across Dwight’s face, and she 
suddenly flushed scarlet. 

“ Untie his cravat, Dwight,” she said quickly, in a 
tone as pettish as a child’s, “ and do put that hat down, 
and rub his hands. How awkward men are ! ” 

At this instant Mrs. Olney and Marjorie appeared, 
full of surprise and unspoken questionings, while a 
quiver passed over the sick man’s face and his eyelids 
slowly lifted. 

His glance lighted first on Marjorie’s sweet face bent 
upon him in wordless pit}^ and he continued to hold 
her gaze for a long minute, during which some strange 


336 


BUBBLES. 


spell seemed to possess all in a breathless silence. It 
was like that momentary hush before a storm, when 
nature holds her breath in awed suspense. Each was 
thrilled with some foreboding, some quivering uncer- 
tainty, which held the tongue and set the heart to 
quicker beating. 

One long minute, then in a natural, unstrained voice, 
Romayne asked gently, 

“ Marjorie, why do you look so pitiful ? Have I been 
ill ? ” and as he reached out his hand Marjorie, compre- 
hending only that this was Romayne, weak and ill, sank 
to her knees beside him, and bent her head upon his 
breast. 

Mrs. Olney gave a little gasp and caught at Mabel’s 
hand, both of them white to the lips, while Dwight took 
each gently but firmly by the arm, and led them from 
the room. 

“ Give them time,” he whispered. “ Romayne has 
been at death’s door, and must not be excited unduly. 
All is coming right, thank God ! ” 

Even as he spoke Olney ran into the room they had 
just quitted, through a rear door, a full glass in his 
hands. “ I’ve got it ! ” he cried. “ But Rachel had to 
pump some fresh, so it took a time,” and then each 
heard Romayne’s old laugh, feeble but clear, and the 
words, 

“ Good for my boy ! Tell Rachel I’m much obliged.” 

“ Hark ! ” said Dwight stopping the bewildered women 
with a sudden movement. “ Hear him ? He is well at 
last. He knows — he knows ! ” 

It would be difficult to describe the scenes of the next 
half hour. It came to Mrs. Olney slowly that Romayne 


SPLINTERED LIVES 3IADE WHOLE. 


337 


was really at home once more, alive at least, and that 
here, too, was her daughter’s old-time lover, taking pos- 
session of everybody in his own masterful way. There 
was no such lengthened process of conviction in the 
other room, however. When the returned wanderer 
awoke from that hundred seconds of utter unconscious- 
ness, he awoke Romayne Matteson again, at home as 
usual amid familiar surroundings and loved faces, while 
David Martyn was as completely lost to him as his real 
self had once been. What strange jostling of brain 
cells to and fro, what readjustment of that mysterious 
grey matter which we believe the seat of that wonder. 
Thought, had caused this first and second hiatus, let 
the scientist explain, if he can. It remains a fact that 
from this day the past four years were gone out of Ro- 
mayne’s memory, and he did not ew^n recall it by frag- 
ments, as he had the old life in his first oblivion. 

Marjorie, hearing him speak as if he had never been 
away, felt that here was some mystery, but that he was 
too weak to be questioned yet, so simply soothed and 
caressed him, until, worn-out with excitement and the 
inner workings of disease, he fell into a quiet sleep, and 
she could creep away to indulge her happy tears, and 
ask the many questions trembling on her tongue. 

Patience grows with age, for then we have learned 
by bitter experience that the greater part of life is wait- 
ing, and Dwight did not stint his three interested lis- 
teners of any detail. Gluey was sent out to play, and 
ruminate over the magnificent fact of a father, at last, 
while Rachel, knowing yet but the bare outlines, kept 
watch beside “the boy,” as she still called Romayne, 
and let the tears gather in her fond old eyes as she 
22 


338 


BUBBLES. 


realized that happiness had come back to both Marjorie 
and her own Miss Mabel. 

The other three women, seated close about Dwight 
Conyne, listened hungrily for every word, and he told 
them all, lingering unweariedly over every interruption, 
exclamation, and conjecture, answering fully every 
query, comparing notes and data on the most insignifi- 
cant events, substantiating minutest facts, and weeding 
out the imaginative from the real ; only occasionally 
letting his wistful eyes seek out those of his old love, 
who seemed preserved for him in a beauty too real ever 
to fade. He decided with them, that Romayne must 
have started for the south, to join Conroy in Cincin- 
nati, and overcome by his remorseful despair, been sud- 
denly taken with the violent illness which had no doubt 
been hanging over him for weeks. 

They also agreed that some kind fellow traveler, who 
had been attentive to his needs, must have replaced 
Romayne’s hat (perhaps fallen off in his half uncon- 
scious state, and lost) by his own traveling cap, thus 
unwittingly furnishing the wanderer a name, if not a 
habitation; and they also agreed that should Romayne 
not refer to that unhappy four years, neither would 
they — at least till perfect strength was restored to him. 
Far better let him believe that only a severe illness 
filled the blank he could not recall. 

But this long two hours of explanations came to an 
end, at last. Marjorie, hearing a stir in the next room, 
hastened to relieve Rachel, and Mrs. Olney, worn-out 
with all this excitement, retired to her own room for a 
brief rest before dinner, leaving the long separated to- 
gether, and alone. 


SPLINTERED LIVES 3IADE WHOLE. 


339 


For an instant silence fell between them, like the 
broad moat yawning between the panting knight and 
the castle wherein his lady waits ; then Mabel rose, 
with an embarrassed movement, and began nervously 
fingering the books and magazines strewing the library 
table. 

“You will stay here to-night?” she began, her eyes 
drooped, and a small flame in either cheek. “ I must 
go and tell Rachel to ” 

“ Mabel ! ” 

She trembled at the force and passion in that word. 
Dwight Conyne was still a masterful spirit, if sorrow 
and self-repression had greatly softened him. He was 
not a man to be tampered with, and the forbearance of 
the patient is but a smoldering fire, after all. Beware 
its breaking out ! 

She looked up timidly and met his frowning gaze, 
which softened instantly at the appeal in her own. 

“ Mabel,” he said in softer accents, “ I came once 
and — went away. I made conditions then, and I must 
make them now. If I stay it is only as your affianced 
husband. Otherwise I go at once, and forever. But 
this time you shall plan all the details. I am at your 
service, an idle man, retired from business and seeking 
health. I have found it, I hope. Plave I also found 
my wife? Shall I go, or stay?” 

He stepped closer and Mabel, turning from the table, 
was about to speak, when the door flew open, and little 
Olney burst in with an impetuous, 

“Aunt Mab, Aunt Mab, Rachel wants to know about 
the rooms upstairs. Is the man that ain’t my papa 
going to stay, or not ? 


340 


BUBBLES. 


Mabel broke into one of her merry laughs, and laid 
a hand on Dwight’s arm. 

“ Yes, Olney,” she said, while her luminous gaze was 
fixed upon the guest, “ yes, run and tell her he is going 
to — stay ! ” 


THE END. 





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